


Bildungsroman: Freshman Year

by MenthaLightfoot



Series: Bildungsroman [3]
Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Eventual Relationships, Friendship, High school (duh), Multi, Non-binary character, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MenthaLightfoot/pseuds/MenthaLightfoot
Summary: Oz Yesfirovich is a Princeling of the Shadows, who just wants to be like everyone else. After all the shenanigans of Spooky Middle School, they embark on ultimate challenge: Spooky High.
Relationships: Scott Howl/Yellow | Oz
Series: Bildungsroman [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1301522
Comments: 36
Kudos: 37





	1. Changes

**Author's Note:**

> Oz Yesfirovich begins high school. 
> 
> They encounter old friends, but things have changed. 
> 
> [CH-CH-CHANGES]
> 
> ***
> 
> This is part two of a series. If you haven't read the first part, this one is not going to make nearly so much sense, though you're smart and you would eventually figure shit out. (You know what's doubly hilarious? I originally intended this to be one single work--80,000 words later, I laugh at that naive dream.)

“ _Oz_?” Their mom’s voice echoed up the spiral staircase. “Are you still up there? It's time for dinner!”

“Five more minutes!” they called. Rūta was cooking, so that was nothing to rush for. She always made simple steamed vegetables and brown rice, and maybe a salad if she was feeling frisky. Still, it had its upsides. If they came down to the kitchen at 1AM, their mother would be in her favorite apron, making homemade noodles drowned in butter.

Their mom’s steps clinked up the stairs. Oz scrambled to their laptop and hid the “Hot or Not” article they up on the screen, replacing it with a web-essay on subverting the human gaze. Their door opened. “Goodness, I think it must have been a week since I’ve seen you! Every time I catch you out of the corner of my eye, I turn around, and you’re gone,” their mom said.

“Yeah,” they said. “Sorry.” They had been very busy. They spent the past two weeks diving head-long into serious research: before school started, they had to catch up on current movies and TV, the albums that had come out over the summer, and the latest fashion trends. They had to do something, to calm the roiling waves of anxiety that crashed down and threatened to drown them.

The closer their watch ticked towards their first day, the more they found their thoughts circling endlessly around one phrase: _I am starting high school._ It didn’t seem fully possible yet, that they would actually be going. They had spent an entire year getting caught up in all kinds of crazy shit, trying to prepare for this day. Juan the Small Magical Latino Cat had been terrified of what might happen to them (or mainly himself, take your pick) when they all faced that impending monolith.

What was going to happen, when they walked in that door? Would they know right away if they had been rejected to eternal loser-dom? Or would it be drawn out, like a single drop of water hitting their forehead with each passing minute?

When they got caught up like this, their right phobia would gaze up at them, its eyes swirling. It told them, straight to the core of their psyche: **_As it always is, in life._**

“ _Okay, can you not do that right now?_ ” Oz asked.

Their entire summer had been a crapshoot. Scott hadn’t called all summer. They tried to find a way to reach him, but they didn’t have much to go on.

It didn’t help that this summer was a year for the Incomprehensible Cavalcade. Every fifty years, the royal family made a tour of the kingdom to meet with the people and apologize to their subjects for centuries of feudal exploitation. Oz spent hours riding in the back of a cart with their sisters, Serafina and Rūta. Since they were only a Princeling by marriage and not by blood, they got to sit up, while their sisters had to kneel in prostration.

They watched as thousands of shadow beings lined the sides of the road, silent, watching them go. Whenever they looked down, Rūta glared up at them. The sleeves of her rough sackcloth gown were splattered with mud.

“ _Getting excited for school?_ ” she asked.

“ _Uh_.”

She said, “ _Moving up to high school is such a big step. Our baby sibling is growing up so fast._ ” Her face didn’t change, but they felt their stomach being pulled at, as if a cat were kneading them—with its claws out. She said, “ _A whole new place, and absolutely no friends or social life to speak of. Goodness, you must be so nervous_!” Her eyes sharpened. “ _Do be careful. Older students can be quite…nasty._

" _What do you mean_?" they asked.

" _I_ _don’t know how things are done at your type of school, but at St. Caim’s, all the freshman had to prove themselves_,” she said.

They thought, _Don't take the bait. You know she always does this._ _  
_

Their stomach twisted. “ _…Prove themselves_?” they asked.

“Are you kidding? St. Caim’s was a lounge for capitalist dupes,” Serafina whispered. She smirked. “ _Your_ school will crush your sorry ass into a pulp.”

“What do you think the public-school equivalent of the shaming gibbet is?” Rūta whispered.

They both snickered.

Their mother raised her head for the first time in hours. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears. They all went silent again. 

Oz couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

But, their mother had finally, _finally_ promised they could wear normal clothes this year! They were in the process of emptying out their entire closet, trying to find the perfect outfit. It was a losing battle, because they would never be allowed to wear the clear vinyl hot pants with denim pockets on the butt that were the biggest thing right now. They still had to wear their family's colors, yellow and black. But hey, if you had to stick out like a jaundiced thumb, you might as well work it! They wouldn't miss out on this chance.

They held up a black constellation-patterned t-shirt, rejected it, and threw it off the side of their bed. A pair of corduroy pants caught their eye, and they dug down to get it. The pile had gotten so big, they literally had to burrow headfirst to get to it.

Yesfir chuckled. “ _You're excited, then?_ ” she said. She sat down on the bed next to them.

They said, “It's high school, Mom. It's the most important thing I'll ever do.”

She said, “Well, I hope not. And remember, you do still have the comfort of us _little people_ , when you deign to grace us with your presence. Come. It’s time to eat.”

They didn't respond. Their right phobia had pointed out a yellow silk shirt, and after giving it a brief glance in the dark of the pile, they shook their head.

“Ozimiri,” their mom said. She laughed. “Oz!” She reached over and tickled them, wiggling her claws out just enough to snag their sides. Still trapped in the pile, their legs kicked out. “ _Mom! Quit it! I'm not a kid anymore_!” they said.

“You’re still a kid to me. After all, I gave you life,” she said.

“ _God, that’s such a mom thing to say._ ”

She came at them again. They burrowed deeper to get away, making a tunnel, and peered out the other side, their eyes two glowing orbs like a Star-Snouted Truckle. She laughed, and snapped playfully at their nose with her razor-sharp teeth.

The door flew open, their mother quickly threw her back onto it to shut it, as if she were trying to block a landslide. Wisps still clung to her from shadow travel. “I’ve come to warn you,” she said.

“About what?” Yesfir asked. She pulled a pair of black overalls off of Oz's head.

“I’m so sorry,” Gintara said.

Three perfectly spaced knocks sounded on the door. Their mother's edges fuzzed, and she _ran_ across their room to hide in the corner. It was so funny to see her like that, that Oz laughed. But then Vadim entered.

He gave a slip of a bow to their mom. “Madam. I have brought this, as requested,” he said. His head brushed the top of Oz's low attic ceiling. He frowned at the sight of a dust bunny clinging to their bookcases. It skittered to hide under their dresser.

“I don’t understand,” Yesfir said.

Vadim deposited a yellow-wrapped box with a black ribbon into Oz's lap. “I was told that the Princeling asked for new clothes. I made sure to finish them before the first day of school, so your appearance would not be inconsistent,” he said. He waited, as if he expected them to rip it open like a Hanukkah present.

Glancing at their mom uncertainly, Oz opened the box. It was a yellow robe with a family crest...like the one they already had? _Huh?_ Underneath were...the same black, blood-diamond studded leggings?

They looked up to see if he was pulling their leg. He looked very pleased, serene, and elegant. “Um,” they said. They pointed at it. “This isn't any different from what I was wearing before.”

“Untrue,” their uncle said. “Which you ought to be able to tell simply from looking at it. The sleeves are in the Caspian style, not the Highland, a reference to your great-great-great Aunt Kateryna and her conquest of the Cimmerian Plain in 945. They symbolize growth arising out of unmitigated destruction. It changes the entire silhouette, and I thought it would suit you very well.”

Oz looked at their mom, who looked dumbfounded. “ _Is he making this up?_ ” they asked telepathically.

“ _I have no idea,_ ” she said. She looked to her wife, who was still hiding in the corner. “Gintara.”

Gintara looked everywhere else, then reluctantly met Yesfir’s eyes. “Darling…”

Vadim said, “Her Majesty agreed, that it is my ancient right as keeper of this household to make the Princeling’s clothing.” Their mom opened her mouth. He interrupted her. “She could not _deny_ that these rights are as ancient and honored as our _laws_ , and she, as the arbiter of that law, is duty-bound to honor and _protect_ them.”

Gintara's shoulders slumped. She said, “I'm sorry.”

Vadim said, “I will happily perform an inspection before you depart tomorrow morning, your Highness, to make sure your attire is properly arranged. I’m sure you will look very dashing.” He leaned down, kissed the top of their head, and swept away.

Oz looked down in vain at the pile in their arms.

“I…I think you'll look very nice, sweetheart,” Gintara said.

Yesfir glared at her. She slunk down towards the lower shadows of their floorboards.

* * *

It was a 20-minute walk from the bus stop, through a dark wood, to Spooky High. It was a small comfort—the velvet of the silence, and the eyes of nameless creatures watching you were just like at home. They always fled when they caught a glimpse of Oz. When the trees finally gave way, was when their stomach started bunching.

The High School was so much _bigger._ There was no playground, and no Crow’s Nest blaring familiar pop music as students partied or threw things at teachers from up above. Dark clouds hung above the Library tower, and a bolt of lightning crashed into the forest beyond.

“Well,” Oz said. “Here we go.”

Before they could cross onto school grounds, their phobias stopped them, and presented them with a little gift. “What? You guys didn’t have to get me anything,” they said. They unwrapped the little box. It looked like the size of the cool new glow-in-the-dark poisoned knife they’d been wanting.

It was a piece of plain yellow velvet. The phobias swooped it up, and pinned it at each corner, to the front of their robes. It covered up the family crest, and if you weren’t looking very closely you might not even notice it was there!

They must have broken into Vadim’s sewing room to get it, a place few creatures of darkness ever returned from. “ _You guys!_ ” Oz said. “ _You shouldn’t have risked eternal repeated Disarticulation for me._ ” They chittered, and nuzzled in close. The left phobia presented Oz with a Victorian-looking, flower-printed card. The note inside was handwritten:

 _**Brick and mortar rise  
** _ _**Leaves fall and cover the pond  
** _ _**All speeds towards Death** _

“ _Wow, you’ve been practicing_ ,” they said. They gasped. “ _Wait a second! Is that where you were for all of June? You were in the abyss trenches with Hiro?!? You said you weren’t going out anymore!_ ”

The right snickered and nodded. The left phobia hissed, and quickly zooped into a crack in the sidewalk, pretending to hunt.

The bell rang. They said, “Shit. Come on if you’re coming, we’re going to be late!” 

When they took their first step in, they snapped their eyes shut and waited. No fire storm rained down from above, at least. A soft rustling tickled their left ear, and they opened one eye. Their phobia was looking around, eyes wide, but staying safely tucked in the darkness behind their earlobe.

Oz realized they were standing still in the middle of the entryway like a loser. They dove into the crowd.

The lobby area was jam-packed. Oz looked for Scott, Juan, or Mamimi, but they could barely see any faces, there were so many teens and 20-somethings. They saw Corvina McCallister, briefly, flying in circles above everyone’s heads before disappearing. She looked about as nervous as they felt.

It centered them. They took out their schedule, checked the classroom number, and started walking. (Were they going in the right direction? It didn’t matter! Confidence was what mattered!)

Their first class went without a hitch. Their teacher even seemed _cool_ , a phenomenon they had never fully considered as a possibility. S/he peppered her lessons with sarcastic quips about how _useful_ all this would be to survive the perils of high school, which were so hard-edged and funny that even the rowdier students paused to listen at those parts.

On their way out of the classroom, they accidentally bumped someone on the shoulder. “Oh, sorry!” They realized who it was. “Hey! Hi, Faith.”

Faith blinked a few times as she looked them over. “Uh…hi?”

“How was your summer?” they asked.

“It was fine, I guess?” Faith asked. “Do I…know you?”

“Huh?” they said. “Yes. I’m Oz.”

“I don’t know anyone in our class named Oz,” she said. “You’re sure you have the right person?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Didn’t she remember literally being stuck in a cavern in the bowels of Spooky Middle School, and being attacked by a giant, man-eater plant?

Hope caught Faith’s arm and started pulling her away. “Where have you been? I texted you like ten minutes ago! Joy’s waiting for us in the Lair!”

“Sorry,” Faith said. “I was talking to a new kid.” Hope looked over her shoulder at them and waved. Oz said, “But I’m not…”

Faith and Hope disappeared into the crowd. Oz headed to the bathrooms before lunch. _Huh. That was weird._

The bathrooms were full of smoke. A few upperclassmen glanced at Oz through the haze from the other end of the long counter, but quickly ignored them when they realized it was a mere _freshie._ They were washing their hands, when they someone shouted, “ _Hey! You!_ ” 

Oz’s eyes nearly came out of their head.

Mamimi had been _transformed._ Her braids were cut off, and the short shock of hair that was left was dyed half purple and half silver, split right down the middle. She had a _belly button ring_. It was on display thanks to a cut-off sweatshirt with a popular anime character giving you the finger, and a tiny mini skirt with suspenders. She waved. “Oz!”

When an upperclassman stuck his arm in her path, starting a slightly slurred, _hey baby_ , she grabbed his arm and jammed it over one knee. There was a sharp _crack!_ , and he backed off, screaming in agony. She hugged Oz with all her strength, and then _punched_ them on the arm. “Ow!” they said. They pulled up their _Caspian-style_ sleeve. A large silver bruise was forming where she’d hit them. “It’s so fucking good to see you!” she said.

“How was Japan?” they asked.

“Incredible. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll tell you all about it. I have my own spot staked out.”

Mamimi led them through the grass behind the bathrooms until they reached a trail, and eventually, a little cave. It had a couple of folding chairs, an electric lantern, and even a mini fridge! “Wow,” Oz said. 

“I know, right? It’s not even on school grounds! No more rashes for me! I go between here and the bathrooms, when I’m feeling more social.” She reached into her hoodie, took out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one. Oz gazed in wonder.

She caught their look. She chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, I know. _What the hell, Mamimi?_ ” She flicked her lighter closed, took a drag, and blew out a stream of smoke.

“I _love_ it,” Oz said quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

She grinned. “Me neither! It was cousin. I thought I was going to spend my entire vacation trying to avoid my family, but it turns out she’s kick-ass! We hung out all the time. She took me to get my hair done, and she even convinced my parents to give me a clothes budget to spend on my own, since the thrift shops are so much cheaper than the department stores.” She took a drag. “My great-aunt was super cool, too. Her late husband was _zainichi_ , and they were part of the protests in the 60s. She got me out of worshipping Japan as a perfect utopia and seeing it more for what it is. I still want to go back though, ASAP.” 

“I’m so jealous,” they said.

She said, “ _Wait_ until you hear the bootleg CDs I got. It’s awesome stuff.”

She told them all about Osaka, the city and the temples and the music scene. Her great-aunt’s neighborhood, with thrift shops and cheap izakayas. “ _And_ ,” she said with a flourish, “I lost my virginity! In a love ho.”

“No,” Oz said.

“Hell yeah.” She sat back, crossing her legs at the ankles. She asked, “What about you? What did you do?”

They rolled their eyes. “ _Nothing_. Everything is exactly the same. Although, my curfew is now _10PM_ , rather than 8PM.” It was the only good thing that came out of the sheer injustice of Vadim’s loophole.

“Oh my god,” she said. “I swear, if I had your parents, I would have burned my house to the ground.”

“Not like I have much of a choice,” they said.

She shook her head. “I decided, I’m through with it. No more playing other people’s games, or pretending to be something I’m not. It’s my way or the highway, bitches!” She took a long drag of her cigarette, and blew out the smoke in a quick, thin stream. She looked _so_ tough. Oz felt a stab of envy.

They opened their backpack. “Want to compare schedules? You’re on honors track, too, right?” they asked.

She snorted and laughed, all her teeth showing. Then she saw their face. “Oh. You’re serious. Yeah, no. Yesterday I broke into the front office and hacked my student file. I have straight A’s all the way to graduation. It’s just going to be me and this place,” she said, spreading her arms.

“You’re not going to class at all?” Oz asked.

“And put myself through that hell hole? No way! At SMS, at least people had _brains_. Now it’s like everyone replaced them with sentient dicks.” She snorted. “Speaking of which. What the hell happened to Scotty?”

“What do you mean?” they asked. Her eyebrows shot up. They said, “We…didn’t really get a chance to talk over the summer. I haven’t even seen him yet.” 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah…why?”

She remained silent.

Off in the distance, the bell rang. Oz stood up and slung their backpack over one shoulder. Mamimi grabbed the free strap. “Hold up. Stay for another period! A bunch of us are going to bully the vending machines into giving up the goods!” Her eyes shone with rabid glee.

“Are you kidding? You know I can’t,” they said.

She said, “I know, but Oz, take it from someone who’s finally getting over 50 years of parental expectations. It’s not worth it. If you give them what they want, they just expect more of you.” 

Oz paused. Then they sighed, and shouldered their backpack. “I can’t.” 

She looked disappointed. “All right. I get it.”

When they reached the mouth of the cave, Mamimi called, “Hey!” She threw something at them, and they caught it. It was a lollipop, with bright blue and pink kanji on it. She grinned. “Don’t use it unless you want a _really_ interesting time. Later.”

The rest of school went smoothly, if a bit dull. Their classes were all okay, and as stupidly easy as before. They could safely put all of their intellectual effort into their Potions class and maybe Mr/s. Arache’s World Literature class.

As they were heading to their locker after the final bell, they were confronted by a massive ring of students. People were waving Spooky High pennants and banners. As a single unit, the crowd gasped, and then cheered.

 _Maybe a pep rally?_ Whatever. Oz didn’t care, but one way or another, they had to get through to the other side. Luckily, they had some mini tear gas canisters on hand!

It didn’t get them all the way through, but at least they got to the innermost ring of the circle. They tried to push through to the front, and someone snarled and tried stab them with a knife. Oz projected an image of her stabbing their own mother in the throat over and over again while her mother begged her to stop. “What’s going on?” they asked her.

She screamed, “OH GOD PLEASE STOP! MOMMY! I LOVE YOU!” but otherwise her telepathic stream was overwhelmed with longing for one single person: _Howl._ “Who’s that?” they asked. A satyr next to them scoffed. S/he said, “Like you don’t know Scott Howl.” 

“Hey, get this one bro!” Someone threw a soccer ball, and it sailed in a high arc across the circle. In a blur of brown fur, a werewolf jetted after it, gracefully flying through the air. He grabbed the ball in his teeth and did a neat somersault as he came back down to the ground. He grinned, gnawing on it and shaking it back and forth. Another werewolf put him in a headlock and gave him a noogie. “Nice catch!” They started wrestling, trying to get the ball away from each other.

Oz stared. _Scotty?_

It couldn’t be. This guy was _ripped._ The standard-issue Spooky High Junior Varsity shirt he wore didn’t even fit him, showing off the bottom two rows of a well-defined six-pack. He moved with all the grace of an apex predator.

They squinted. Maybe this was a different werewolf, who just happened to _look_ a lot like Scott. There were about ten or fifteen in the middle of the circle, barking and throwing various sports balls to one another in a mesmerizing, indecipherable dance.

One of them threw a frisbee. Scott abandoned the soccer ball and raced after it. "I got it! I got it!!!" He crashed full-body into a row of lockers, leaving a perfect werewolf-shaped dent, ears and all. The frisbee was clenched neatly in his very white, very straight teeth. Everyone cheered as he dug himself out and shook out his fur. _Nope. Definitely Scotty._

The crowd around them watched Scott with slavish attention. People’s cheeks were red. Some were audibly sighing, and checking their hair and makeup, then going back to looking casual when Scott turned their way for even a second. A few people threw their underwear for him to catch. (Which he did, in his mouth, but he quickly lost interest once the next ball was thrown.)

They reached out telepathically. “ _Scotty?_ ”

His ear twitched. He turned vaguely in their direction, but he didn’t look at them. “ _Scott! It’s me,_ ” they said. They raised their hand, waving.

 _What the hell?_ They were five feet away from him. They were speaking directly into his mind!

Someone shouted, “Go long, bro!” and threw a football. Scott’s eyes went HUGE, and bounded off after it. The entire pack of students followed in his wake. They pushed forward with such force, that Oz fell. They put their arms up over the back of their neck to avoid being crushed.

The hallway became empty and silent. Slowly, Oz got to their feet and brushed themself off. They stared down the hall where Scott had disappeared. 

“Hey! Who's this loser?”

One werewolf, then two, then half a dozen formed a circle around them, backing them up against the wall. They started sniffing and circling. “Uh,” Oz said.

“Who cares?”

“My ears are ringing.”

“There’s something _weird_ about them.”

One shoved his nose against their body, sniffing them all over. They froze, and tried to protect their chest with their arms. “Wait a second,” the werewolf said. “I smell wolf on them!”

“That’s not a wolf!”

“What are you, thing? Tell us!”

“ _Thing? Excuse me?_ ” Oz said. All the wolves whimpered, tails in between their legs. Maybe their brains weren't large enough to cope with the intrusion of such a psychically powerful being.

The head of the pack came forward. He was pimply, but formidable. Oz shrunk down a bit.

He smiled. “Hey baby.”

_Uhhhh. What?_

He slapped his hand on the locker next to them, losing his balance when it slipped into the Scott-shaped hole. He tried to pretend like it hadn’t happened. “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening, right?

Their phobias created a portal on the opposite wall, and pointed into it frantically with their little hands. Oz could see their bedroom through it. “Um. Right. I…I have to go,” they said.

He looked surprised. “Huh? Hey! I mean…I’m on the football team! Second string quarterback for varsity!”

“Good…for you?” Oz said. They tried to step around him, but another wolf came up behind them, pushing them forward towards his leader. They were surrounded on all sides. How were they supposed to get out of this?!?

With a flash like lightning, they realized they had two options:

_Distraction! And what better way to do it, than inviting two world-renowned chefs to have a throwdown with a secret ingredient: 2,000 gallons of horse blood!_

Or:

_No one can remember that they were awkwardly flirting with you when they’re subjected to the relaxation of a full mani-pedi, courtesy of the city’s hottest new pop-up salon!_

_Oh, right_. They spent so much time away in a place governed by rational logic, they’d totally forgotten how much of their school time was spent navigating stupid situations. No wonder it seemed so quiet today.

 _Shit. I’m out of practice._ Didn’t they get an easier, trial run before being thrown into something like this?

Nope! Their mind raced forward. The dazzling lights and delicious smells of the first option would definitely provide cover, but it would take _so long_ —after all, setting up a gourmet kitchen capable of making a really good blood roast took at least 15 minutes for everything to arrive and the cameras set up. The Wolfpack's attention wouldn't be held for that long. The only thing you had to do to request the Glimmer Paws salon was think really, really hard, _I do believe in treating myself! I do! I do!_

A cucumber-melon-scented breeze blew over them all, and out of a rose-gold cloud, came an entire professional spa. There were pedicure chairs, a manicure station, and a massage area. The leader of the pack said, “Huh?”

The team looked at the Wolfpack’s matted fur and untrimmed, athlete’s foot-ravaged-nails, and gasped.

The Spa Director said, “A blank canvas.” She clapped her hands twice. The spa team advanced.

The Wolfpack said, “W-whoa…what do you losers think you’re doing? Can’t you see we’re manly dudes trying to get laid? Get back!”

Oz was starting to run to the portal, when the leader’s foot landed on the sweep of their robes. They fell face-first into a locker. Their vision went dotty with white spots.

When they lifted their face out of the metal, they shook their head. Their nose had bent. It bounced back into perfect form, because their organs weren't real. The leader of the pack said, “Whoa! Did you see that? _Bro!_ ”

“Do it again!” Someone grabbed the back of Oz’s head. They put out their hands. “Wai—!”

Their face met locker. Again. And again. And again. The Wolf Pack and the entire Glimmer Paws team howled with laughter watching their nose get crushed and re-Form itself again. Oz’s head started to pound. The laughter and yipping of dogs were all around them, shifting this way and that, disorienting them.

Finally, Coach called the boys to practice. They left Oz dazed on the floor of the hallway. Their phobias had to roll them into the portal, which landed them softly on their bed.

 _What did I do wrong?_ They had forgotten what this felt like, the burning shame, and no real feedback on how to do better next time. They curled up in the fetal position. Their phobias draped a blanket over them. 

In the warm dark, they played the scene over and over again in their mind. _Scotty…_

They might as well have been looking at a stranger.

A really buff stranger. Tall and lithe. All that soft fur, over thick, rippling muscles…

They jolted upright, coming back to reality. They started hyperventilating, when they realized they were getting wet in between their legs.

“ _Honey?_ ” Yesfir called. Their mom let herself in without even knocking. Oz quickly threw their blanket over their head. _Oh, god. Why?_

She said, “ _Oz, it’s ten minutes past the start of your piano lesson. Maury has been waiting for nearly half an hour!_ ”

They said, “ _I-I’m sick_. _I can’t go to my lesson._ ”

She came over to feel their forehead. They hid further under the blanket. “ _If you won’t let me look at you, then you have to come downstairs. You know the rules: you have your lesson, unless you have a fever or vomit._ ” She paused. “ _If you’re having that discharge again…_ ”

“ _Mom, god, no!_ ” they said. “ _J-just leave me alone, please!_ ”

“ _Sweetheart, it’s perfectly natural. Your maleficent glands are_ —”

“Mom, stop!” they yelled, stuffing the blanket into their ears. The telepathic idioms of _glands_ and _discharge_ were too much, whether or not they were overlaid with the rosy feeling of Oz growing into a strong, intelligent individual right in front of their mom’s eyes.

She tapped her heel and looked at their bedside clock. “You’re making me late to my next appointment, Ozimiri. I’ll be waiting downstairs for you. If you’re not at the piano in ten minutes, we’ll have to have a talk. The first day of school is no excuse for laziness.”

* * *

After a few days, most of their fears melted away. 

Sure, there were bigger, older kids, but the grades mostly kept to themselves, and everyone was so wrapped up in their own shit that they didn’t have to worry too much about bullying. The classrooms were as charred and mangled as any other they had known. 

They settled into a kind of routine.

As they came into school, they covered their face with a book as they sprinted down the hall, keeping their eyes down, and their body just solid enough to not fully slip into the Shadow Plain and caught by Serafina, who patrolled with her best friend Birutė in the mornings. As they did, they scanned the faces in the crowd around them—a means to get to know their fellow students, and definitely not hiding from anyone, or anything. (That would be silly.) Then, Oz made their way to class. With the sheer speed at which they sprinted through the halls, they had more than enough time.

Once they were in the classroom, they were in the clear.

Oz even started to become popular with their classmates: at least once a week, their teachers got royally confused. They wouldn’t be sure who Oz was, or if they were actually supposed to be in that class. “If you’re a new student, you have to go to the front office before coming to class. Of course, we don’t discriminate based on age, but we do insist that those older, immortal, or limitless creatures who seek the joys and pitfalls of a high school education later in life go through formal registration!”

“I’m not new,” Oz said. “My name is right there! You knew who I was yesterday.” They would point to the roster, and the teacher would look up and down between it and them, over and over again.

This had happened four separate times in their potion-brewing class alone, which was a real pain in the ass, because they were the only freshman in an upper-level class. The teacher always tried to send them down the hall to Potions 201: Watch Me Brew This and Don’t Touch, Breathe, or Look At Anything, You Untrustworthy Mites.

After arguing with Ms. Beezela for a solid half hour, one of the seniors nudged them. Her four mouths all grinned with razor-sharp, jade teeth while she whispered, “Hey! Mad props. Tomorrow, can you delay by ten more minutes? We were thinking of playing a game of strip mancala.”

“… _Yeah. No problem_ ,” Oz said. The girls didn’t flinch or make a face at Oz’s telepathy, and gave them huge grins of thanks.

It really wasn’t so bad, that they were completely and entirely alone. Again.

At least the lunchroom geopolitics were wildly different than at Spooky Middle School. People didn’t form meal-time tribes that guarded their territory like rabid beasts, sending raiding parties to claim large batches of food ahead of time or orchestrate campaigns to take over coveted tables. Anyone could sit with anyone, and no one seemed to care or judge. People ate in the bathrooms or outside, but not because they were uncool. They didn’t want to hang around _in_ the school, was all.

The lunch ladies were already big fans of Oz; meaning, they didn’t immediately snarl upon laying eyes on them. Plus, they knew _nothing_ about the art of bartering. Not only was Oz able to get two cartons of milk for the amount of vodka they used to trade for one, but sometimes the lunch ladies threw in whatever dessert was on the menu for the day, if a portion had fallen onto the floor. Today it was a brownie, with chocolate chunks and bugs mixed into the batter. Nice!

Oz stopped at the exit to the main cafeteria. Across the room Scott sat at a table with Liam. Liam had a paintbrush, and was using it to paint a mottle of peanut butter, grape jelly, and mashed peas on Scott’s face.

Liam said , “You eat this mass-produced, mass-distributed muck to live, yet does it truly nourish you? Does _anything_ in our society? Placing the food _on the body_ makes a statement of rebellion against the quick-service, environmental catastrophe of the post-modern world.” 

“Uh huh. So, I get to eat it afterwards, right?” Scott asked.

“Don’t you dare even _consider_ it before I’ve taken my pictures! This will be the centerpiece for my new online art exhibition, _Nosh Fugue_ ,” Liam said.

Their phobias pointed. There was a seat open right next to Scott.

Oz...turned away.

Both of them started flicking their earlobes. They said, “ _No. I…I’m not going over there._ ”

One of them tried to get Scott’s attention over Oz’s shoulder. “ _Will you quit_ _it_?" they said. " _Look…he’s popular now. I’m not. This is just the way things are._ ”

They both hissed.

Oz looked one more time over at Scott’s table. When Liam brushed a line of gravy across Scott’s nose, Scott wrinkled it, laughing. It was _so cute_.

They bee-lined in the opposite direction.

They set their tray down at the next empty seat they came to, without even looking at who else was at the table. They were hit smack in the face with the spray from Miranda Vanderbilt’s gold-plated misting fan. “Ugh!”

The water had a seaweed-y scent to it, and it was _warm_. Their phobias looked extremely put out, rustling the droplets from their feathers. One held up a soggy sign: _Nice going._

Oz suddenly found they didn’t care. Sitting on the other side of Miranda, was _Polly Geist._

Polly put her feet up on the table. “Look, girl, there’s no way you can keep it locked up until _marriage_! What a waste on the world if it doesn’t get a chance to eat your pussy!” Her eyes were bright and teasing. Oz melted.

Miranda, though, looked confused. She said, “Why would anyone want to eat Aquinas the Great? She’s not part of my dowry. Only the solid platinum collar that she wears is, along with her cellar of rare canned tunas and her 10-story bejeweled kitten castle!” 

Polly groaned. “Oh, come on! Tossing the salad? Stuffing the taco? Jamming the habanero salsa dispenser with Jell-O?”

Oz had never heard that one before, but it sounded fun!

Polly said, “We need to do _something_ to make sure you don’t agree to put the caviar on the car engine without knowing what you’re doing. But _what?_ Sexy Scattergories? Hiring Melinda of the Bountiful Bosoms?” Her eyes got downright _wicked._ “Or…” She slid her arm around Miranda’s shoulders, pulling her close. “ _We_ could have a little pussy playdate.”

Oz felt the rise of hopeful determination they had come to know so well, and then they were _smacked_ upside the head! What they should say became obvious:

_Miranda. I think what we’re trying to tell you, is that you don’t want to combine dynasties without taking a promenade around the royal gardens first._

Or:

_You’re right Polly! Let’s get this pussy playdate started, by starting a match-making service for cats!_

Now _this_ was a situation they could get behind. Two amazing options that would be clear winners, no matter what. Turning to the task at hand: Oz had been in love with Polly from the first moment they laid eyes on her, and _maybe_ they could sneak away for their own game of _Sexy Scattegories_ in the gazebo while Miranda was admiring her parents’ gladioli. _But_ , getting to watch an entire herd of kittens be dressed up in adorable outfits and set into a miniature version of speed-dating? That was too amazing to turn down.

Oz posed the idea, and then shook out their robes, which could hold up to 25 different kittens at a time in its various pockets. Miranda _squealed_. “EEEEEEE!” Polly picked up an _adorable_ purring black kitten with a white heart-shaped splotch on its breast. “Look at _you!_ Look at _you!_ ” She put four in her lap right over her crotch. “ _Ahhhh._ It’s just like when I use the massage chairs at the airport!”

Miranda’s hand jutted up into the air. “Ooh, I call doing the bloodline charts to make sure none of the kittens are matched with someone outside their social class!” She got out her personalized pad of family tree charts and glittery gel pens.

The three of them spent lunch hosting twelve rounds of lightning-fast cat speed-dating, complete with a French café-inspired setting. Things got heavy when a splotchy tom tried to mount a tabby, and she dumped her dish of milk all over him, but after a long talk he understood the meaning of consent and boundaries much better.

At the end of lunch, Polly left immediately without looking at Oz. “See you, Miri! I’ll be outside making the tomato-coriander-fennel seed jam, if you know what I mean!” She waggled her eyebrows, and was gone.

Oz didn’t even care that she still didn’t register their existence. They felt a pleasant buzz. There was none of the usual stress, or fear. Lunch was the greatest!

When they were packing up their stuff, their right phobia tapped their shoulder. Miranda was still looking at them. Her eyes were slightly narrowed. “You look…familiar. Do I know you?” 

_Uh oh._ “No,” Oz said. “Of course you don’t. I’m a nothing who has no MONEY and no power.”

She stared at them longer. “Right,” she said, finally. Her serfs started stuffing kittens into her purse for her. “Well, thank you, peasant! I’m off to have these little darlings’ arranged marriage contracts formalized!”

“Uh, my name is Oz,” they said.

“I don’t care!” she said. She dumped her tray on them to throw away for her.

They found they didn’t mind that much. She was nicer than they remembered, in her own weird way. She’d even said thank you!

* * *

Then, it all went to hell.

They walked into class one morning after a particularly exhausting weekend at home—four public appearances and two receiving lines, for the Harvest Moon viewing. And _there he was_ , sitting in _their_ usual seat in the front row.

They gasped. Scott’s ears twitched. He started to turn.

Before they could think twice, Oz shoved themself into the supply closet at the back of the room and closed the door. “Oh god oh god oh god.”

They totally forgotten that when they’d picked their schedules last year, they and Scotty had decided to take Infernal Howling together, so they would have at least one class with each other. _He’s never showed up to class before! What the fuck?!? _

They looked to their phobias. “W-what do I do? Help me think of something!”

The two of them gave Oz a dry, fed-up look. They looked at each other, and disappeared with a _zlupp!_ under the crack in the door.

“What?!? Guys!” They peered out of the crack of the closet door. They saw the door to the classroom open, and their phobias leave. The left one met their eyes, pointed to Scott, and pointed to them before yanking it closed.

 _You little traitors_.

The glanced to the front of the room. The teacher had started the lecture. Scott looked jumpy and bored, the way he always did in class. They sat down on the floor. _I guess…I guess I could take notes from in here._

Things were thrown a bit off-course when a cloud of locusts escaped from Dobbo the Dragon’s hoard-pack (apparently someone tried stealing one of the mystical rubies from under the flap) but the teacher got everyone to calm down. “I guess you all don’t want to practice breaking walls with only your vocal chords?”

The class cheered despite their burning clothing, and the emergency sprinklers dowsing them in water. Having permission from a teacher to wantonly destroy school property? _Hell yeah!_

Everyone started making ungodly wail-y, bull-froggy, help-I-might-be-dying noises from their tracheas. No walls came down—after all, it was everyone’s first try. 

A paw rose in the air. “Mr. Godzirra? I don’t have a partner,” Scott said.

The teacher looked around, his spiky tail taking out the overhead projector. “Huh,” he said. “I thought we had an even number in this period.”

The whole class offered to ditch their current partners to pair with Scott! Mr. Godzirra looked over the melee of students stabbing each other with pencils and rulers, as they desperately tried to reach the front of the room. He sighed, and said, “Ah well. Guess we’ll have to get the wailing robot from the supply closet!”

Oz looked behind them. Indeed, there was a robot with the shitty approximation of a mouthful of fangs, right next to the box of art supplies. _Ah, fuck._

Crashing footfalls approached, showering a snow of dust onto Oz’s head. _Well. I guess I’m out of options._

When Mr. Godzirra opened the door, Oz’s pupils dilated. They looked deeply into their teacher’s eyes, going past them into his mind. “You’re going to give me a hall pass,” they said.

“I’m going to give you a hall pass,” he echoed.

“You’re going to mark Oz Yesfirovich as present for the entire year,” they said. They tilted their head to one side. “They got all As on all their exams and assignments, although they could be stronger in summoning wails.”

“Yes,” he said.

“They’re a joy to have in class,” they said.

“Oz Yesfirovich is a joy to have in class.”

“Now take the robot. Go get the hall pass, and bring it to me.” They released him with his mind intact.

Mr. Godzirra did just as he was told.

Left alone in the dark of the closet, they sighed, knocking their head against the back wall. Their teacher’s mind hadn’t even been that difficult to get through. Although it was sad that his long-term partner had been diagnosed with HIV, and his insurance plan didn’t cover the drugs. Oz would have to have a _talk_ with someone.

 _See, this is why Influence is never worth it. You think it’s just for one simple thing, and then it becomes an entire production_. They hadn’t even enjoyed it, like they did when they used their Dark Abilities to create Illusions.

In two minutes they were out the door, still frowning. They’d forgotten that hall passes here were timed—the big red numbers read _14:41_ , and the timer was wired to a massive bomb. It wasn’t even enough time to walk to bathrooms and back.

They leaned against some lockers and tried to catch their breath.

_You know you can’t avoid him forever._

But couldn’t they? Clearly it hadn’t been too much of a _hardship_ for him to move on and leave them behind. They were just following his lead.

From the classroom, came a long, passionate…slightly dolorous? howl, cracking the glass of the door’s window. _“Excellent work, Mr. Howl!_ ”

Oz felt a stab in their heart. That howl was filled with so much passion. Before they could form a coherent thought, they were swept away by a warm wave of admiration. Someone with a howl like that would probably spend their evenings looking out pensively at the night sky, their pecs glistening as their body was showered with rose petals.

_God, he’s so hot._

They started walking quickly down the hall. As they did, took the thought and crushed it. They wrung its neck, shoved a knife through it, and dismembered it into pieces.

Still, the warm heat in their stomach remained. It combined forces with their more rational inner dialogue. _Okay, so you’re attracted to him. It happens, right? It’s not like you can control these things…maybe it’ll go away. Yeah. I mean, he just looks so different now! You’re getting used to it. Taking space for yourself in a new situation is totally normal. You can talk to him later._

Something else whispered to them, more softly. _If he does remember you, you’ll probably have a better chance than anyone else of sleeping with him. You know him like the back of your own hand._

They thought they might throw up. They sped up, wiping their eyes. _God. Get it together._

“Look, I swear, I can explain!”

“You doggone students and your antics! I will not have such flagrant disregard for the spirit of education and crushing conformity that this school stands for!”

The principal was coming down the hall. They took cover around the corner, peering out.

A very familiar werebear was with PGS, and stuck in Martin’s iron grip, was Amira Rasheed. She said, “Yeah, I hear you dude, but…look, if you’ll just _give me_ the box, I’ll _show_ you—”

She reached up. Martin _growled_. He held a small wooden chest out of Amira’s reach.

Principal Giant Spider said, “I was hoping that all of the hubbub around _social media_ and the 1000% increase in security cameras would solve our problems, but like everything else your generation brings, it only makes things more complicated! I remember a simpler time. If students misbehaved, we pinned their thoraxes to mounts. Good luck trying to misbehave then!” 

Amira rolled her eyes, and she scanned for some way out.

She and Oz locked eyes.

They and Amira had never talked very much. She was always _going_ somewhere: to the bathrooms to skip class, to the front of the line when they had rope-climbing in gym, heading out to a club with her friends, setting up elaborate sand traps in the hallways. Now she looked at them with pleading eyes. Her psychic field reached out to them. _Come on, dude. Help a girl out!_

“ _I’m not a dude_ ,” they said.

Amira physically jumped. Martin glared at her, growling. PGS didn't notice, continuing on with his rant, which moved on from the perils of unmonitored youth to the complete lack of culture in their generation, and in particular, the scourge that was avocado toast.

 _Holy shit how did they do that?_ she thought.

“ _Telepathy,_ ” they said.

She thought, _Uh, okay, you can hear me. Would you mind helping me out? Detention would really cramp my style. Please?_

As their heart sped up, their mind started to work. 

_You can't. You'll be in so much trouble._

_But what else am I going to do? Just leave her there?_

_And if it goes AWOL? Say goodbye to school._

They could feel the ticking of the hall pass-slash-bomb in their pocket. _Why did I get given a hall pass that doesn’t even have enough time to actually use the bathroom?_

 _Why do I still accept the social conditioning that tells me I need to ask for a hall pass? In a school where it’s totally okay to stab someone and steal their identity, having a fucking _box _is suddenly a crime?_

They dumped the hall pass into a trash can, and ran down the hall. “Principal Giant Spider!”

“It's not even a proper breakfast! Do you know how much more protein are contained in mealworms, comparatively?!?" He looked around. "What? What was that?”

“Thank goodness you found it! That’s mine!” they said. They reached for the box. Martin held it out of reach, snarling.

The principal’s nine beady eyes narrowed. “ _Yours_? What is your name?”

“Oz Yesfirovich, sir.”

PGS motioned, and Martin handed over the box. “If it is indeed _yours_ ," he said, "then would you mind explaining to me, what it is?”

 _Uhhhhh…_ Amira made a subtle, frantic motion with her free hand. She thought, _Come on, you can do it! Think of something!_

“It’s for my...” they said, “my...condition?” They blushed. “You know. _That_ one?”

“Condition? I don't know about any _condition_ ,” PGS said.

“Surely you remember! You were so kind to let me sit in your office for hours while I told you the intimate details about my very life-threatening and potentially embarrassing condition.” Their eyes went huge. “I know you would never forget me. As I would never forget your steadfast dedication to providing ungrateful students with individual attention and guidance.”

PGS looked this way and that. He started sweating slightly. Amira gave them a discreet thumbs-up.

They said, “You...don't remember.” They nodded. “Oh. Okay. Um.”

PGS sputtered, and scoffed. “Why—why of course I remember! You were very memorable!” He handed it over with a cough. “Apologies.” Without another word, Oz stuffed the box into their backpack. PGS avoided looking at them. “Now...get back to class, Jess-fire-o-vick.”

“Yesfirovich,” they said.

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you—"

Amira stepped in, finally free of Martin's grip. “ _Oookay_ , glad I could find that for you, Oz, buddy. This means I can go too, right?” Amira put an arm around their shoulder, and started walking them backwards. “And thank you, really, from the _bottom_ of our _hearts_ , for being such a positive role model to our fledgling—RUN!”

She grabbed Oz's hand and they took off. They ran all the way down the hall, down the stairs, down more stairs, did one loop around the entire school building, and narrowly missed running straight into the sinkhole that had caved in behind the woodshop. Oz was immensely grateful that Amira's grip on their hand was like steel, because without her pulling them, they would have stopped and collapsed long ago.

They stopped outside on the football field, both flopping down on the top bench of the bleachers. Amira fanned herself. “Sorry about that. Wanted to make sure we weren't followed. Woo. That was close! Thanks, dude.”

They nodded, too out of breath to correct her misgendering again. After a few more deep breaths, she took out a small flask and took a drink. When she offered it to them they gulped it down. It turned out it was whiskey. “Listen, u-um,” they said. “I-I’m not a dude. I’m a...” But what were they? A non-binary pal? That wasn't catchy enough, plus the only one who used the word ‘pal’ was probably a pissed-off customer at a chain sandwich shop, or a 60-year-old man hanging out in the world’s last soda fountain. “I use they/them pronouns,” they said.

She spun the cap back on the flask with a single practiced _flick_. “Cool,” she said, “Didn't mean anything by it. In Amira's world, I’m a dude. You’re a dude. He, she, they, zir, zhe, and all other associated pronouns, genders, and identities, are dudes. Everyone is a dude, dude.” She stopped. “Unless it actually makes you feel dysphoric. Tell me if it does, and I'll stop.”

They did a self-check. Now that they knew that Amira meant no harm, they felt better. Their stomach wasn't doing backflips, and they were breathing normally. They were being called something casual and fun by a fellow student! “No. It’s okay.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed. “Awesome, dude. Let me know if that changes at any point." She looked them over. "So, new student?” 

“Huh? No.”

“It's cool. We all have a first day.”

They said, “We were in class together all last year.”

She thought about it for a second, shaking her head. “Oh, wait! Was it geography? That was the class I took my nap in.”

“It was gym,” they said.

She shrugged, and didn't seem to think much more of it. “Where's the goods?” she asked.

“Huh? Oh!” They reached into their backpack, and took out the box. It was covered with intricate carvings and something written along the top in an unknown language. They realized, it seemed a lot _warmer_ than it had before, pulsing rhythmically almost as if it were breathing. “What is it?” they asked.

“This puppy,” she said, and held it up. “Is the key to _moi_ finally getting my due in this school. It contains...well, I don't really know, but that’s not important.” She reached into her purse, and pulled out a full set of lock picks. “My girl gave me these to borrow. They never failed us before. Watch and behold.”

She carefully inserted the picks, listening and turning carefully. It looked like she was about to get somewhere, when: “What the—!”

The lock _sucked up_ the picks. There was a metallic chewing sound, and then a loud, peanut-smelling burp.

“Ugh.” Amira waved the air with her hand.

“Whoa!” Oz said. "I mean, gross, but still."

Amira tried a new pair, and this one wasn't eaten; instead, the box spit them out so fast, Oz had to pull her out of the way. The picks glittered as they flew into the sky and out of sight. "Maybe we should try something else, so you don’t lose all the picks," they said.

"Good idea."

They spent several hours trying to open the box. Oz was convinced that there would be a spell that could open it, if they could identify the language of the phrase at the top. Amira preferred to hit the box over and over again with a comically oversized mallet.

"This sucks," she said. They were sweaty and exhausted, surrounded by a half-dozen ancient tomes and one meat mallet. They laid on their backs in the grass.

Oz sat up. "What if," they said, "it's a _blood_ lock?"

"A what?" she asked.

"I've heard about them. They open through blood, freely offered. Certain boxes will only open with the blood of the intended recipient, but that's not as common. It's a very dangerous curse to perform."

"So, I cut myself and see if it opens?" she asked.

"Basically."

She made a tiny cut in the pad of her thumb with her pocketknife, and pressed it to the keyhole. They both watched. Nothing happened.

"Well," Oz said. "I guess it's not—"

"Waitwaitwait! I feel something!" she said.

There was a flash of light, a sickening crack, and Amira cried out. Her crimson-red nail was barely hanging on for dear life. They both gasped. "It broke your nail," Oz said.

"Oh, it's on," Amira said.

"I'll get the school flamethrower," they said.

That didn't work either. Neither did the female motorcycle gang stomping on the box with their steel-toed boots, or Oz's attempt to make a key by casting a mold of the lock's interior out of wax. It exploded into a cloud of purple smoke while they were smelting the iron to pour the copy. The box lay on the grass, mute. "Well, I'm out of ideas," Amira said.

Oz huffed. They slammed their fist on the grass. "Cock and balls!" 

Three little bells chimed, and a tinny voice announced, "You guessed the magic word!" The lid of the box popped open. They looked at each other, and then scrambled to it.

What they saw inside, changed them forever. When they were old and gray, both of them could still look back on that day and remember it perfectly. The smell of the grass; the heat coming off the metal bleachers; the birds nesting in the light towers. All before that moment seemed pale, and easily fell away.

"Whoa," Amira said.

"No wonder this was locked," Oz said. "This isn't for mortal or immortal eyes."

"I hate to lose out on a chance to gloat publicly, but this can't be anywhere it could fall into the wrong hands. We're gonna bury it," she said. "Somewhere no one will ever find it."

“Agreed.”

They sealed this resolution with a blood pact, closed the box (which locked immediately), and dumped it into a bucket of wet cement, then carried it to the pond just off campus and threw it as hard as they could. It landed with a splash in the middle. “Well,” Amira said, dusting off her hands and putting her fists on her hips. “Not bad for an afternoon's work! I've got absolutely nothing to show for it, and now, no priceless ancient object to sell, but hey! At least I wasn't in class.”

She looked surprised when she saw Oz was standing there. “Oh,” she said. “You're still here.”

“Was I supposed to go somewhere?” they asked.

“Well, no, but...most people usually leave when I start giving my epic speeches. I don’t know why.” She looked over their shoulder. “Oh, shit shit shit! Okay, act cool.”

 _Vera Oberlin_ marched up to the two of them, her heels digging into the ground. Amira grinned smoothly. “Heeeey, Vera. How's tricks?”

“Where is it?” Vera demanded.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said.

Vera said, “Shove it. I know your people hacked into my email. I don’t know _how_ —I have all my data quintuplet-encoded with security software developed by a corrupt ex-NASA programmer.” She narrowed her eyes. Her gaze was so piercing that Oz felt like they’d had a knife poked into their stomach. 

Amira said, “Has anyone ever told you that you look extra powerful when you’re angry?”

Vera was not impressed. “Hand it over, _now_ , if you know what’s good for you.” She started walking, backing Amira up.

Amira said, “So, yeah, about that. Haha! Isn’t it a really funny coincidence that we both heard about the same priceless ancient artifact housed in the Monstropolis mayor’s office just hours before it was stolen by a fearless, powerful, smoking-hot female heistmaster dressed all in red vinyl! It really shows we both have a keen sense of what’s up-and-coming in the high-stakes heist world. I would love to collaborate with you on this, but my latest intel has told me that this thing is not as cool as you or I could have predicted it would be. So hard to tell with these things."

She grinned. "Luckily, I took care of this _for_ you, and diverted the artifact into a more lucrative channel!” Her back hit a tree. “And really, who wants to buy a priceless ancient artifact these days? Kinda passé, ever since the market got flooded with those 9th-century porphyry fortune-telling statutes that I totally don’t know how they got to our time period!” She nodded. “I did you a favor, really.”

Vera snarled. “You _idiot!_ That box wasn’t _actually_ a priceless ancient artifact! It was a camera that I planted in the Mayor’s office, to capture candid footage of his secret sex parties! I was going to sell it to the tabloids for millions!”

Amira and Oz exchanged a wide-eyed glance. _Whoops_. (Although it didn’t explain why they found the spirit of an all-powerful sorcerer inside that box, cursed for all eternity to take the form of a menstrual cup.)

“Hey.” Damien LaVey came towards them, cigarette pack in hand. Amira made a face at him. He made one back, then turned back to Vera. “Are we not having a smoke break?”

“Not now,” Vera said. “I’m in the middle of something.”

Damien snickered. “Say your prayers, Rasheed.”

“That’s ironic, coming from you,” Oz said. Damien actually had to _look around_ to find who’d said it. Then he looked down, and made a face.

He narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Oz said, putting their hands on their hips. “You _cheated_ off me all last year.”

Apparently, that didn’t narrow it down. He looked Oz up and down, making a particularly disparaging face at their robes. Vera pinned Amira harder against the tree and said to Damien, “Unless you’re going to help me extract the information I need, get lost. I don’t need your distractions.”

“Hey, extracting is one of my specialties. Especially organs and teeth,” Damien said.

Oz shuddered; it was still one of their greatest fears, to have themself strapped down on a table and their teeth removed one-by-one by a pair of rusty pliers. They had so many teeth, it would take hours. Damien noticed, and grinned _._

He said, “Forget her.” He started taking off his jacket. “Give me five minutes alone with the noob, and they’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“Hey!” Amira said. “I’m a worthy opponent! Come at me, bro!” She went to take a swing at him, but he held her back with a hand on her forehead and walked right on by.

Right towards Oz! 

They started walking backwards. Once Damien was set on a rampage, there was pretty much no stopping him, so appealing to Vera was their only realistic option. “It’s, um, it’s too bad that you’re missing out on the economic potential in this situation!” they said.

“Oh please,” Vera said.

They said, “Because why do you need an actual sex tape? You could just pretend that you have one. Blackmail the mayor by saying you’re selling it to the press, then make him pay ransom money for an empty tape. It’s not like he can do anything once the MONEY is in an off-shore account.”

Damien laughed and said, “Do you hear this? What a fucking loser _nerd!_ Just shake _down_ the Mayor until all the city’s money falls from the pleats of his pathetic d’Orsay Christian Loubsterbacks!”

Vera shoved Damien out of the way. “This idea is…not terrible.” Over her shoulder, Oz saw Amira’s mouth fall open. She gave them a thumbs-up. Vera said, “Well, actually, it’s one-dimensional and lame, but it _will_ give me a quick return on my investment _without_ having to get my hands dirty.” She gave Damien a pointed look while typing on her phone. He rolled his eyes.

She said, “I’ve trademarked it. Any claims you had to it or the profits it produces are null and void.”

“That’s fine,” Oz said. They took the phone right out of her hands, and drafted an email to the Mayor from a burner account telling him that he’d better hand over the city’s entire police budget, or have his dirty footsie-tootsie parties exposed to the world! They gave it back to her for her approval. Her eye’s widened as she read it. She sent it (no revisions!) and locked her phone.

Damien spit out Vera’s shoe. “Are you done? Now can I beat them up?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” Vera said.

Damien raised her shoe up over Oz’s head. _Wait. What?!?  
_

They had to think fast. They started backing up again. “By the way, how did you know that?” they asked.

“What?” Damien asked.

“How did you know that the silk of a Christian Loubsterback d’Orsay pump is pleated?” they asked. It wasn't exactly a common take on that shoe. “Or that the Mayor wears them during his weird sex parties.”

The air became silent and heavy. Damien’s face turned blotchy.

Amira gasped. Vera snorted. She said, “I knew it.”

Damien turned on her. “You don’t know shit!”

“Foot fetishes are nothing to be ashamed of,” Oz said. They certainly weren’t in the business of kink-shaming. Anyone could appreciate the subtle rush of power and sexiness of a well-made silk pump.

Damien said, “SHUT UP! It’s not the…I’m not…I wouldn’t…GAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” He took Vera’s shoe and punched it so hard, that it disappeared into the sky in a twinkle of light.

“ _Damien_!” Vera stepped on his foot, digging her remaining high heel into his toes. “What am I supposed to do for shoes for the rest of the day?”

“I don’t know! I don’t care!” he yelled. He stormed off, throwing a final death-glare at Oz.

“This is amazing!” Amira whispered to Oz. “Thank you for this.” She cleared her throat and said, “There’s always the Nurse’s office. Or…” She stuck out one thigh-high boot. “You could take my shoes.”

The expression on Vera’s face made it clear that she would probably rather walk barefoot through a patch of used heroin needles. She sighed. “What size are you?”

“Size 7,” Amira said.

“Give them to me.”

Vera walked back into the building, looking sexier than ever. “Would you mind?” Amira asked. She jumped into Oz’s arms. “Just until we’re back inside.”

“Sure,” they said. As they walked, she said, “A+ back there. Seriously,” she said. She sighed, letting her head fall back. “Oh, Vera. A beauty unlike any other. My Venus flytrap.”

“Uh _huh_ ,” Oz said, and Amira grinned, tickling them under their chin. She said, “I could tell you had good taste.” 

They came back into school just as the final bell rang. Had they really been out there for the entire afternoon? It felt like no time at all. Oz set Amira down outside the gym, far enough away so that she wouldn’t catch anything from the floor in her bare feet. “Thanks again,” she said. “So, I have some light embezzlement to take care of this afternoon. I’ll see you around?”

With two finger guns and a click of her tongue, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD THIS TOOK FOREVER TO GET TO THE POINT OF PUBLICATION. I had it 95% done for over a month. Then it sat for another week because work. It turns out that adjusting to a new job during a pandemic and a nation-wide revolution for change takes a lot out of you! I'm still not totally happy with the chapter, but it's completed, and that's the most important thing. (I always go back and ninja-edit old chapters/works anyway. Have any of you noticed?) 
> 
> I really, really wanted it to get this up before the sequel to MP came out, so my toe would be in the door. And, hey, look! Actual major characters! By the way, I have no idea how the sequel might change canon/lore, but I probably won't give a fuck. I've been working on this story for two years and I'll be damned if I have to go back to make major re-writes at this point. (I've had large portions of this story totaling well over 150,000 words written for quite some time, but it takes me ages to actually complete a chapter for publication because I start writing later parts of the story while in the midst of the next chronological chapter.) This is an AU anyway, so there are no fucking rules. 
> 
> I've noticed that not nearly so many people comment on ye olde AO3 versus other sites I've had experience with, but if you would be willing to leave a comment (even a short "I liked this!") it would be greatly appreciated. I have no way of gauging my readers' reactions unless they leave comments. Kudos are also wonderful, but again, it doesn't give me a true sense of how YOU felt about your encounter with this 20,000+ word monstrosity. (I never intend these to be 20,000+ words, okay? It just happens.) The feedback I got on the last part was lovely and generous (thank you to those lovely individuals), and I would love to hear more! What did you like? What didn't you like? 
> 
> My plan at the moment is to have one story for each year of high school. I'm not entirely sure if they'll all be published in strict chronological order, because I have A LOT of stuff written from later years that would probably be more fun to read, and would be posted faster if I would just GET ON WITH IT. We'll see. The next chapter should be much shorter, and hopefully up sooner, because it's under 10,000 words and pretty much good to go. I don't know why it seems to want to be that short, but it does, and I'm not in the business of deciding anyone's identity for them. Until then! 
> 
> ***
> 
> Black & black trans/QPOC lives matter.


	2. New Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of chapter 1, but I realized that it was WAY TOO LONG and this part needed to be split off on its own.
> 
> Second edit: apparently all of my italics & some edits I made got erased when I copy/pasted it from the old chapter to this new one? Not sure why. Anyway, that's fixed now.

Oz was leaving the locker room for gym the next day, when someone reached out and grabbed them. A bright light shone in their eyes.

They hissed. Their eyes drew way, way back into their sockets and were replaced with many rows of teeth. Their phobias grew out their fangs and elongated their bodies. "Ooh. That's unexpected," a voice said. It was changed by one of those voice transformer thingies. When a hand pulled off the gas mask the figure was wearing, it was Amira. She gave them a winning smile, and clicked off the flashlight.

"I didn't think you were in my gym class this year," they said.

"Oh, I'm not," she said. "You think I would skip during gym? Come on. You said you were here for a year. You know me."

“Oh. Well, I have to get to class,” they said.

“Yeah, no you don't.” She grabbed their hand and tried to pull them back into the locker room. They resisted. She said, “Oh, come on. Like you’ve never skipped a class before.” They sighed. She looked at them in amazement. “Never? Seriously?”

They said, “Look, my parents are hard-asses. If I get caught putting a toe out of line, I’ll be put through the ringer, so can we talk later?”

She stopped them again. “Trust me, you don’t want to go out there.” She pointed just as a loud whistle blew. Coach (Oz had never found out his name, if he had one) gave them all an excited grin. “All right, my sterling youths, gather round!” he said. “I know I said we were going to finish our last pre-Dodgeball unit of gently throwing a ball back and forth to each other for an hour, but I heard on the radio this morning that there's been a serious uptick in aggression in young people." He frowned. "This is deeply troubling! You are our future! And you ought not to stab each other with knives or drink bleach as much as you do. So, I decided we're going to put all that energy to good use!”

He pressed a button. Out of the gym floor rose an obstacle course, with jets of fire and a pool of acid. He rolled out a harpoon-firing cannon, fully locked and loaded. He said, “By happy accident, Spooky High’s whaling team lost their time in the school pool to league karate. We’ll help them out by giving them some practice! Who wants to go first?” He smiled sunnily, looking for a volunteer.

Oz said, “Okay, I'm coming.” 

“Nice,” Amira said.

As they left the main building, she said, “I have gym first, and any other period I can sneak in, so if you ever want the low-down on what to expect hit me up.” They took the path towards the bathrooms. On the way they passed three vending machines lying in a kind of graveyard, toppled one over the other, their fronts cracked. “You thirsty?” Amira said.

“Sure.”

She went over to them, and gave one a sharp kick. It wheezed, and ejected two cans. She said, “Black Tar Mojitos! You must be a lucky charm or something.” She passed one to them.

When they went into the bathrooms, Victoire Schmidt was leaning over something on the counter, tools littered all around her. When she heard the door, she quickly grabbed it and stuffed it behind her back, posing casually against one of the stalls.

Her face lit up. “Hey! How’d it go?”

Amira said, “Box was a dead end.”

“Awww. I'm sorry, Amira.”

“Eh.” She shrugged. “She did talk to me this time, which was an improvement from the last seven attempts!”

“Really?!” Victoire said. “Awesome! I told you. She may not be SMARTS forward, but it’s in there! A little anthropological research can be surprisingly effective, if you use it to make her oodles of MONEY.”

Amira scratched her head and said, “Yeah, about that…”

Oz was listening, but they were mostly watching the thing on the counter, a console with innumerable buttons and lights. It had been smoking quite a lot, and now it started clanking, jumping up and down violently.

“Uh,” Amira said, pointing to it.

“It’s fine. It does that,” Victoire said. Then it started beeping uncontrollably, and caught fire. The whole wall around the mirrors caught fire soon after. One shattered, and they ducked away from the broken glass. “Whoops,” she said.

Oz popped open their Black Tar Mojito, pumped two pumps of soap into it, and shook it up. They dumped the acid-green liquid onto the machine. It turned into a white-cheeked turaco, which laid two nearly round, silvery eggs, and flew off. “Ooh!” Victoire said. “More for my incubation chamber! Hey, thanks!”

“Onto the actual important business.” Amira shoved Oz forward. “This is Oz. Oz, this is my bestie—”

Oz said, “I know you! Victoire, right?”

Vicky’s face lit up. “You do?”

Amira gasped and said, “See? I told you running that PR campaign was gonna work out!”

“Oh, you mean those signs that say ‘Vicky is awesome’ all around school? I did see them, but I already knew who you were,” Oz said.

Her eyes shone. “You can call me Vicky! No one calls me _Victoire_ except my mom. Stupidest name ever, amirite?”

“Mine too!” Oz held their hand out. “Ozimiri Emilijos Rabinovich-Kalvaityte Yesfirovich. They/them pronouns.”

Vicky gasped, and threw her arms around them in a crushing hug. “My non-binary soul mate in terrible name-dom! Ohhh, Amira, can we keep them, pretty please?”

Amira sat herself up on a bit of dry counter. “I thought you might think they were cool.”

_Cool?_

A bright flash of light went off right in their eyes. Oz blinked a few times. “Vicky’s the only person on the planet who actually assigns everyone’s contact a photo,” Amira said. “It’s a real accomplishment, considering she has over 500 real-life friends.”

Vicky flashed them a dazzling smile. “That, and I’m getting their reading on STATSWhore,” she sing-songed.

“Ooh, good thinking!”

“On...what?” they asked. STATSWhore sounded like something their mother would kill them for, if she knew they were on it. Amira and Vicky both laughed. When they saw Oz was serious, their mouths fell open.

“You’ve never used STATSWhore?” Vicky asked.

They said, “No? Is this a dating thing?”

Amira said, “Fuck, I’ve never met anyone who hadn’t. This is like looking back in time before there were cars or hover-scooters.” She grabbed their arm and pulled them in, so they could see her phone. “It’s an app, for checking your STATS. You use the camera or the fingerprint reader on your phone, and it tells you how you’re doing on BOLDness, CHARM, FUN, MONEY, SMARTS, and CREATIVITY.” She lightly hit their arm. “Dude, no wonder no one knows who you are. How’s anyone supposed to, if you don’t publicize the intimate details of your personality on an online platform for everyone to stalk?”

Vicky’s phone dinged, and she stared at the screen with rapt interest. Then she looked up at Oz. “Wow. You’re SMART. Like, almost as SMART as me.”

“Almost?” they said.

“What is it?” Amira said. She whistled low. “And that level of CREATIVITY? Oh, this will be great for the group dynamic. Vicky and I are abounding with BOLDNESS and FUN, but we’ve been drier than a ditch in terms of finding any really CREATIVE stuff to do.”

“I joined theatre club!” Vicky said. “Madamoiselle Suspiria is really strict about it, too.”

“Yawn. So did half the class. I want something really out there, something...” She grit her teeth and smacked her fist against her knee. “See? Nothing! How are we supposed to take over the school and telegraph our badassery with this creative drought?”

Oz fiddled with their watch. “What about...using graphic design to express the ineffability and isolation of depression, and then using it for mind control? Re-tool something like a coffee cup, that everyone uses. Everyone would identify because we all quietly battle with our own demons, and then you have them in the palm of your hand, because they think that they’ve found the only person in the world who really understands their particular struggle.”

They both stared at them for a few quiet moments. “Wow,” Vicky said. “They are good.”

“And it’s a business idea. Someone’s gotta manufacture those cups, and why can’t it be us?” Amira slapped her knee again. “I’m calling it. Oz is officially inducted into friend-dom.”

“Do you even need to say it?” Vicky said.

“R-really?” Oz said. “You guys want me to be your friend?”

“Uh, duh,” Amira said.

The bell for the next period rang, and Oz felt the deep-seated tug of muscle memory urging them to run back to the classrooms right away. Amira and Vicky, on the other hand, seemed to be settling in. Amira lit a cigarette. “You heading out?” she asked.

“…No. I’ll stick around,” Oz said.

They stayed in the bathrooms all day. They mostly fucked around, talking about nothing and playing stupid games, like “Never Have I Ever.” Amira and Vicky had some… _interesting_ turns.

“Never have I ever danced in my underwear on the rooftop of a club!”

“Never have I ever broken into the United Nations of Monsterdom to get the number of a cute simultaneous interpreter from Guam!”

“Never have I ever commandeered an elevator for two hours to use as a drugged lemonade stand!”

“Never have I ever made my own lube and used it in the same night!”

Since the two of them knew each other so well, Oz won six games in a row, because they would knock each other out and Oz would still have three fingers or more. They had their moments, though. Like when they had to fess up that they had, in fact, shoplifted and flirted at the same time, and when they were the only one to put their finger down on, “never have I ever skinny-dipped.”

The final bell rang when they were all down to one finger. “No one moves,” Amira said, looking at both of them with narrowed eyes. She reached into her backpack, and pulled out a MONEY clip. She counted out 5 crisp bills and laid them in the middle. “Let’s make this really interesting.”

"Where did you get all that?" Vicky asked.

“I don’t have any MONEY to bet,” Oz said.

“Me neither,” Vicky said.

Amira said, “Just put something in. It’s all good among friends.”

Vicky put down an amazing-looking mystical staff she’d found in the school parking lot. Oz didn’t have anything as cool as that!

After hesitating, they unbuckled their watch and put it in the pot. Their phobias gasped.

“Cool,” Amira said, “Never have I ever…” She looked at Oz slyly. “Gotten high on prescription meds!”

No one put their finger down. “I’ve never done that,” they said.

“Seriously? You look like the type. You know, you’re not the one who goes balls-to-the-walls crazy in the club, but you still know how to have a good time chilling at home.”

“You really do,” Vicky said. She tried to get Amira out by saying, “Never have I ever been left-handed,” but it turned out Amira was fully ambidextrous. “How did I not know this?” Vicky asked.

“I contain multitudes,” Amira said.

It was Oz’s turn. They smirked. “Never have I ever…had sex.”

“ _Bullshit_!” Amira and Vicky said at the same time.

Oz cackled. “Not bullshit! My V-card’s intact.” Both of them groaned as they put their final finger down. Oz pulled in their pile of goodies, including their watch. They grabbed it even before taking the MONEY, and breathed a sigh of relief when it was back on their wrist.

Amira told Vicky the whole story about her and Oz’s rendezvous with Vera. “It would have been a perfect afternoon, if freaking Damien hadn’t shoved his nose all up in my business! Sometimes I just want to take his head and bash it over my knee!” She slammed her fist down on the counter. Her hair burned low and blue. “That guy pisses me off. I can light fires and punch shit just as hard as him! Does that get me anything? No! Meanwhile everyone thinks he’s such hot shit.”

Vicky giggled. “Oh yeah, being a totally innocent bystander suddenly embroiled in your shit. How dare he!”

“Whose side are you on?” Amira said.

Vicky said to Oz, “Look, don’t let her give you the wrong impression of him. She and Damien have been on each other’s nerves ever since third grade—”

“GIRL, WE DO NOT SPEAK OF—”

“—when they had a Flaming Hot Cheez-Zee eating competition and Damien won,” Vicky said. 

“ _Blood feud_ ,” Amira said, slapping the back of her hand against her palm. “Damien LaVey and I are embroiled in a legit, registered-with-the-city blood feud. For forever and all time, until my ancestors get their revenge and I put his Flaming Cheez-Zee colored head into a jar of pickling fluid in my closet.”

Oz said, “Don’t worry. I think he’s nothing but a jerk.” Of course they still thought Damien was mega-hot, but it was mixed with such a high dose of disdain that it blunted the force of their desire.

“What’s the stated aim of your blood feud?” they asked. Every registered blood feud had to list a legal aim, even if it was only _FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUU, BITCHES!_

“See, they’re asking the right questions,” Amira said. “It’s for the title of Supreme Fucker of Shit in this Universe and Beyond.”

“Oooh. That’s a good one!” Oz said. Unlike silly royal titles tied to blood, that kind of title held coveted cultural cache. It might actually mean something to someone! Amira bowed, flourishing her hand. “Thank you, thank you.”

Vicky said, “Anyway. Damien’s great to hang out with, if you get the chance.”

Oz sighed, and said, “Like that’s ever going to happen.” Even if Damien were capable of emotions other than anger and more anger, it’s not like they would be at the top of his list of people to hang out with.

“Oh, you totally can,” Vicky said. “He’s actually a really accepting person. He’ll hang out with anybody so long as you don’t mind a few flesh wounds.”

Amira shook her head. “Their BOLDNESS is nowhere near high enough to survive an encounter with him, let alone actually gain some ground.” She raised her eyebrows at Oz. “Vera and I are very similar in personality, but that doesn’t mean my CHARM is anywhere near what it needs to be, to have a conversation with her. I’m working on it.” She looked them over. “I’m going to be totally honest with you, those clothes are not doing you any favors.”

Oz groaned. “I know. My uncle insists that I wear them. He made them himself, and every time I try to even suggest new clothes, I get shut down.”

Amira hummed. She rubbed the material in between her fingers. “Are you wearing something under there?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Okay, let’s see what we’re working with.” She grabbed handfuls of the material, until most of the robe was bunched up around Oz’s waist. They blushed. It deepened when they saw her make a face at the silver-and-blood-diamond embroidered leggings he was wearing.

“Well, you have great legs. I’m jealous," she said.

Vicky squinted. “They look like normal legs?” she said.

“Your calves are excellent,” Amira said, “You’d probably rock a pair of skinny jeans better than Liam, and that’s saying something. A little bony, but a slim figure is back in style. And these boots,” she knocked the toe of her own boot against one. “They’re pretty kickass.”

They smiled. They weren't “boots,” strictly; they had a different name, which Amira wouldn’t have been able to pronounce and, if uttered, would project the sensation of having her skull crushed under their heel. But they didn’t need to bring that up.

She frowned. “There’s too much material to really pin up. Would your family notice if we altered it?”

Oz’s face was deadpan. They mimicked, in a nasally voice, “Every aspect of your dress and bearing reflect the refinement and terror inspired by our family. The length of your robes represents the family’s longevity, beginning with Frederica Ageyev, who—"

“Okay, what the fuck?” She turned to Vicky. “They can’t keep going to school like this. We need a serious plan.”

Vicky gasped. “Is this what I think it is?” She punched the air. “Shopping! TO THE MALL!”

“Nah. We need something next level. Can you call a ride? We should go downtown to the thrift stores.”

“I’m on it,” Vicky said, her phone already out.

Oz said, “Amira, hang on a second.”

She didn’t seem to hear. “The shops downtown have a lot of overpriced hipster crap, but if you know where to look, you can find a lot of really cool stuff.”

“I’m sure, but, listen...”

Vicky groaned, and they both looked to her. “Shit, that sucks. Fuck the cops! Hang on a second.” She put her hand over the bottom. “Polly can’t take us—she got arrested last week, and they revoked her driver’s license again. What’d you say, Polly?” She pepped up. “Oh, really? Do you think he would? Okay, call him, and then call me back when you’re done.” She hung up. “So, she can’t, but she thinks Owen can drive us. He doesn’t work today and has a car.”

“Who the hell is Owen?” Amira asked.

“He graduated a few years ago. He’s really cool and chill. He works at the bar in the bowling alley on Oak.”

“Cool. When we get down there, we’ll hit up Lucy’s and that place in that basement, and then...”

“Hey!” Oz shouted. Both girls jumped, and looked at them. They even spooked themself a little bit. “Sorry. Look, this is really nice of you both. I’d love to go shopping, but even if I buy new clothes, my parents won’t let me wear them. My uncle would take them and destroy them.” They rubbed their arm. “I don’t want you to go to all this trouble for nothing.”

“Hold on for a sec. Let’s not give up so easily,” Amira said. "We'll make a pre-emptive retaliation strategy."

“Why don’t you keep them in your locker?” Vicky said. “You can come to school in what your family wants, and then change out of it when you get here.”

Amira snapped her fingers. “Vicky, you’re a genius.”

“Years of advanced STEM courses have been leading up to this very moment,” Vicky said.

They both looked to Oz, and Oz mulled on it. Actually, now that she had said it, it was painfully obvious. Why hadn’t they thought of this? Maybe STEM did have uses, other than being used to bury the complexities beloved by the humanities. “That...could work. As long as I get here before everyone else in the morning, before anyone would see me.”

Amira said, “Great. Next part of the plan.” 

Vicky’s phone went off. “Hey Polly. Oh, awesome! You’re the greatest. Hmm? Oh, we’re going shopping. A new friend of ours needs some clothes for school.” She nodded. “You should come too! I think you’d really like them. They’re FUN like you!”

Going shopping with Polly Geist?!? Oz shook their head nervously. Vicky just gave them a finger gun and mouthed believe in yourself! “We’ll see you then,” she said, and hung up. She put her hand on her hip. “Polly and Owen will be here in 20 minutes.”

“Okay. We’ll have to find some way to make Oz presentable before they show up.”

Amira and Vicky tried to find some way of arranging their robes to make them less awful. Vicky came up with something that seemed almost cute, by tying off part of the fabric with her hair tie and arranging it around their waist, but they finally decided that it would be safer if Vicky gave them her own signature blue sweater. It didn’t quite work with their leggings: the blue clashed with the blood diamonds around the cuffs and pockets, but it was the best they could do. “Polly’s down at the parking lot by the football field—let’s go!” Vicky grabbed their hand and pulled.

They took off across the campus. The rain had stopped, but the grass was wet and squishy. Amira’s heels sunk into the grass, making her stumble. Vicky laughed. “Yes! Survival of the fittest! I CALL SHOTGUN!” she yelled, sprinting alongside the chain link fence bordering the football field.

“The fuck you do!” Amira called back.

“Hey, wait up!” Oz said. They did their best to keep up, reaching out to run their fingers along the chain link as they ran. The air slapped their face, and they laughed.

Out of the corner of their eye, they could see practice taking place across the field. They did a double take: a blur of brown, red, and white ran past him on the other side of the fence, with the name “HOWL” across the back.

They stopped. Scott leaned back on one foot and threw the football in his hands.

Distantly, Oz heard someone calling their name. Scott’s ear twitched, and he turned.

They stared at each other.

A bullhorn blared across the field. “ _Howl!_ Pay attention!” A football smacked Scott in the side of the head, and he stumbled. Oz flinched.

Amira said, “Oz! Earth to Oz! What are you looking at?” She gave their arm a hard pull. “Come on, you can drool over Howl later. We’ve got places to be!”

They pulled back, totally mortified. “I wasn’t!" She laughed and yanked harder. “Yeah right. We’ve all done it.”

When they reached the parking lot, an obnoxiously bright red minivan was parked on the far edge of the lot. Polly Geist leaned against it. She waved a peace sign as they approached, and immediately pulled Vicky in for a tight hug and a smack on her cheek. “Hey, boo!”

She looked more beautiful than ever. Oz wanted to hide, because they knew the minute they opened their mouth, something stupid was going to come out, and they would never be able to show their face to her again. Vicky gestured to them with a flourish. “This is our new friend, Oz.” 

Polly looked at them, maybe for the first time ever She made a face. “Oh man. You do need clothes, don’t you?” Oz’s stomach twisted.

She winked. “Good thing your face is so cute, then!”

They felt as though their heart would burst out of their chest. Amira’s elbow nudged excitedly into their side.

Polly banged on the side of the van with her fist. “Well have no fear! Polly’s party van is here to save the day!”

“Uh, I think you mean my party van. And can you be gentle with her?” A zombie strolled over to them, a lit cigarette in between his lips.

Oz could immediately see that he was really cool. His t-shirt and jeans were perfectly unkempt, and his hair was styled just enough to make it look effortless.Most people would have looked like a complete dweeb standing next to a red minivan, but the casual way he leaned on it made everyone forget its lameness. He had a gold nose-ring on the side of the gaping sinus cavity where his nose would have been.

He smiled easily. “Sup Vicky. Vicky’s friends.”

“Hey Owen! This is Amira and Oz. Thanks for the ride,” she said.

He nodded at them. “No prob. The nice thing about this old girl is that she can handle a lot of people.”

The tinted front passenger window rolled down, and a second zombie buried in a huge, fluffy-hooded coat said, “Can you stop referring to the car as ‘old girl’? It’s fucking weird,” he said.

Owen said, “I hope you don’t mind. My little bro Brian is tagging along.”

“I’m not ‘tagging’...ugh. Whatever.”

Vicky grinned and waved. “Hey, I know you! You’re in my art class!” Her brow furrowed. “Or at least you were the first day. I can’t remember if I’ve seen you since. Were you there today?”

Brian shrugged. “Art isn’t my thing.”

Amira said, “Okay, great, everyone’s friends. Now let’s go! Everyone in!” She yanked open the door. “After you, madam,” she made a sweeping bow to Polly, who giggled.

Amira and Vicky climbed all the way in the back, which left Oz sitting next to Polly. They closed the door carefully, and folded their hands in their lap, not really sure what to do. When they looked up, they saw Brian turned around just enough to glance at them. “Hi,” they said.

“Hey,” he said.

They were working up to saying that it was nice to meet him, and thanks for the ride, when Polly’s hand landed on their knee. They jumped. “Oz, right? So you’re new?” she said.

They shook their head, their eyes trained on their hands in their lap. “Um, no, I...”

A hand gently cupped their face, guiding it up until they were looking her in the eye. “Hey. I’m up here.” She gently squeezed their chin before letting go. “Although, points for being the first monster ever not to immediately zero in on my boobs!”

Oz could feel their face turning red. Amira snickered, kicking the back of their seat. Vicky leaned forward and draped her arms around Polly from behind. “Can you really blame us for that?”

Polly said, “Course not! If someone else had boobs as great as these, I’d be staring at them, like, all the time. Well, I hope you like it here! School is the fucking worst, but we make sure things get lit whenever possible!” She leaned back and held out a hand, which Amira and Vicky both high-fived.

“...Thanks,” they said.

She looked at them like she was expecting their to say more, but before they could come up with anything, she grinned and said, “Strong yet silent. I like that.” She squeezed their knee, sending them towards the third near-heart attack in five minutes.

As they drove, Polly told the story of how she lost her driver’s license. “So I got stopped by this cop, and I was fucked up, right, like, the whole she-bang! Coke, E, at least 5 gin and tonics and 5 tequila shots, and a little Ritalin to make things interesting. My hands were shaking, I was sweating, and I was like, fuck, I’m not even going to be able to hand her my license! But I give it to her, and she looks it over and gives it back, and nothing! I decided to hedge my bets. Gotta live life on the edge, right? So I said, “Are you sure everything’s okay, officer?’ And she said—” Polly lowered her voice, making it soft and husky. ‘Well, actually, miss, I stopped you because it’s illegal to leave a cute girl unattended in a car like that.’”

“Jackpot!” Vicky said. “Oh man, if only I could get my hands on one of those law enforcement immunity badges! It even works for the vigilantes who roam around actually protecting people and enforcing laws!”

Polly gripped her arm. “I was 99% percent of the way there. We were going at it in my backseat. It was _hot_ , and I was about to grab the badge, when suddenly she asks, ‘what’s that?’ And right there, on the fucking floor, are these organs that Liam lent me!”

Vicky and Amira gasped. “Noooo!” Amira wailed.

Polly said, “I was like, I swear, officer, I can explain, but she makes me get out of the car and then cuffs me!”

There were groans all around. “Dude, come on! Everyone knows to stow the organs in the glove box before you get out at the club!” Amira said, laughing.

Polly said, “Such a dumb mistake. So there’s six months without a license. At least she was cute. _Strong_ hands.” She leaned forward and threw an arm around Owen. “You’re going to have to be my chauffeur from now on.”

“Any time day or night Polly. You have my number,” he said, meeting her eyes, his gaze smoldering. She giggled.

“Keep your eyes on the road,” Brian said.

Owen rolled his eyes as Polly flopped back into her seat. “Chill out, B.”

“I just don’t want to total Mom’s car.”

Polly grinned at Oz. “You should definitely come to my next party. They’re awesome! Everyone gets super high and then gets down low on the dance floor, all night long.” She folded her arms behind her head and crossed her legs at the ankles.

“They’ll be there,” Amira said.

“I will?” Oz said.

Polly said, “Sweet! Damien said he knew a guy who could get some really freaky shit, so it’ll be crazy!”

They definitely didn’t want to be at any party that Damien LaVey was at. Vicky must have seen the look on their face, because she said, “Everyone goes to Polly’s parties—there’s like, over 200 people. Amira goes even though she and LaVey can’t stand each other.”

Polly shot finger guns at her. “Nothing brings people together like some awesome drug cocktails and grinding. My current goal is to throw a party so big and crazy that it literally makes the roof fall in. Everyone talks a big game, but I want my party to live up to the hype!”

“We’re here,” Owen said. “Just gotta park.”

“Watch out!” Brian said.

Owen slammed on the brake. They were about to hit into the front fender of the car in the space behind them. A car trying to get past them blared its horn and zoomed around them. Owen smiled. “Good eye, bro.”

Once the car was fully stopped, everyone unbuckled their seatbelts as quickly as possible and scrambled out. Brian shook his head as he did so. “Owen. You have to re-park. You’re more than a foot from the curb.”

“It’s fine,” Owen said. 

Brian rolled his eyes. “Give me the keys. Mom will kill us if it gets dented.”

“Whatever.” Owen tossed him the keys, and immediately followed after Polly, who was bee-lining down the street.

Oz cleared their throat, and Brian glanced up. “Do you need any help?” They had never driven before, but how hard could it be, to help someone park?

Brian shook his head. “No. Thanks though.”

“Okay. Thank you for the ride.”

“Sure.”

“Oz! Shit, I need to put a leash on you,” Amira said. “Let’s go. We’ve got shopping to do. Polly’s going to Desiderata, which...” She raised an eyebrow at them. “You’re too pure for me to explain what it is right now. Don’t go there without someone who’s been before.”

“Uh, okay?” Oz looked over their shoulder at the minivan. “Should we invite Brian to come with us?”

“Huh?”

They said, “He seems nice.”

Amira shrugged. “I’m sure he has things to do. Anyway, we’re on a mission!”

The first place they went to looked very much along the lines of “hipster crap.” As they walked in, the sales-cockatrice gave them a look that toed the line between disinterest and contempt masterfully. Oz felt in the deepest corners of their soul how passé they looked. They had to have a measure of respect for that kind of Influence over people.

“We’re working from a blank slate here, so!” Amira clapped her hands and spun around to face Oz. “This is a moment to redefine yourself. Clothes make the monster, as they say—what do you want to be? What’s your style?”

“I don’t have one.” Their family had made sure of that.

“Well, think about the impression you want to make. For example,” she gestured to her own clothes, doing a full turn. “This. Nothing too avant-garde, but crisp, clean, and sexy to boot. Business-ready, but easily switches to a full-on rager. Vicky?"

Vicky held up and examined a purple sweater that otherwise looked identical to her usual blue one. “Comfortable and nerdy. And replaceable if it gets multiple singe-marks and/or chemical stains.”

Oz closed their eyes. "Androgynous," they said.

Amira said, "We can do with that." 

There was an entire "androgynous" section in the store, something Oz had never even dared to dream of. Unfortunately, it skewed heavily towards 1980s space-androgyny. Amira and Vicky cracked up when they came out of the dressing room in their first outfit: a pair of black jeans with a yellow-and-black bishop-sleeved shirt, and silver platform boots.

"I thought it would be edgy," they said, staring at their feet. They really liked these boots. They had silver covered buttons going all the way up, like old riding boots.

"We mean it nicely!" Vicky said.

Amira said, "It is edgy, but you're probably more suited to something Edward Gorey than Biggy Starplume."

They finally decided that the store was too niche for what they were looking for. Oz did end up buying the pants they tried on. They were only 1 MONEY, and they would have something better to wear out of the store.

When they went to pay, the sales-cockatrice looked slightly less disinterested than when they’d first come in. “Hey. Those pants are interesting.” She gestured to their leggings. “Where did you get them? My partner has a tie-dyed jerkin that would go great with those.”

“Oh, uh. You can’t buy them in a store or anything. My family had them made for me,” Oz said. 

Their feathers ruffled and shimmered. “Would you be interested in selling? I’d give you store credit to put towards your purchase.”

Amira leaned against the counter and smiled. “How much store credit are we talking about, here?”

“Cash or nothing,” Oz said, their face flat. The cockatrice tried to give them a look of withering disdain, but Oz didn’t give in. They tugged on the edge of her mind until they saw that she was deeply unsure whether or not this relationship was going to work out or not. She was kind of desperate to find some way to knit it all together. She’d already gotten too drunk twice this month, and accidentally forgotten to pay the rent on time. This was the best relationship she’d had so far. Oz exaggerated it, making her feel as though _I must have those pants_ , or face inevitable rejection.

“Two MONEY,” she said.

“Ten,” Oz said.

“We don’t give more than 3 MONEY for any piece of clothing. Store policy.”

“That’s too bad.”

Finally, she agreed to 5 MONEY, looking sweatier and more anxious by the second. With their earlier winnings, it would be just enough to buy them the rest of a full outfit. “Nice one, dude,” Amira said.

They went back to the changing rooms, and once their new pants were on, they took a moment to look at themself in the mirror. There was nothing special about their outfit—blue sweater, black pants, black boots. But looking at themself, Oz felt like they might start crying. They looked normal. Like any other high school kid who had friends and did homework and wanted to have fun.

“You can do this,” they told themself. They took a couple deep breaths, and did their best to walk out of the dressing room looking confident, their head held high. Vicky and Amira both looked up from their phones. “Aww, Oz! You look so different already!” Vicky said.

“It looks okay, right?” they said.

“You look great, and it’s nothing but up from here. Ready to go?” Amira asked.

“Y-yeah. Let’s do this!”

The next place was much more fun and funky. They were playing pop on the radio, and next to the dressing rooms was a rainbow disco ball that flashed colored lights on the floor. They had a great time shuffling through the racks, and they found some good possibilities, as well as laughing at the ridiculous things that they found: a full leather ballgown, shoes that had a real vortex swimming in the heel. Gingham bell bottoms.

Amira crowed. "Something got mis-sorted!" She lifted up a black-and-gold speedo layered with a tangle of chains on the waist. It was clearly designed for someone very well endowed. "Black tie, anyone? Is this something you would want to find when you're about to get down, or no?"

"Yes!" Vicky said.

"Oh, I've seen those before. It's not what you think," Oz said.

"What do you mean?" Amira asked.

"It's not for having sex," Oz said, "It's for locking things in." They pressed a hidden button. A whole cage deployed out of nowhere, with spikes that ended just milimeters from the speedo's crotch cup. "The chains are just for ceremony," they said.

Amira hissed. "Ouch."

"I guess if everyone's consenting?" Vicky said. "No shame."

Amira tossed the whole thing over her shoulder. Then she gasped. She had her hands on a hanger, and hid it from the two of them. “I have the best idea.” She started flipping through the rack on a mission. “Vicky, take them to the dressing room. I’ll be right there!” She came to their booth with a whole armful of clothes. 

When they were dressed, Amira cleared her throat theatrically, and said, “I give you Oz, Amira-style.” She pulled back the curtain, and Vicky gasped.

When Oz looked in the mirror, they felt like they were looking at a stranger. They had on a pair of tight leather pants with red panels near the hips (Amira’s great find), a red aviator shirt, and a leather jacket. Amira put a pair of gold-rimmed aviator glasses up on their head. They looked someone who could work a room without a single doubt in their mind, ripping their enemies to shreds as they went. “Whoa.”

“That’s intense,” Vicky said.

“I don’t know if this is for me,” Oz said. It was certainly impressive, but they felt a little like they were wearing a costume.

Amira grinned, and put her hands on her hips. “I know. Not everyone can work a look so BOLD, CHARMing, and sexy as mine,” she said. She wiggled her hips.

Vicky, on the other hand, looked like she was about to explode. Her cheeks were tinged red, and she desperately tried to stifle laughter, both hands clapped over her mouth.

“What? What’s so funny?” Amira asked, frowning.

Vicky shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes.

Oz said, “Vicky—"

Finally, she said, “Oh my god, _you look like Damien_!” She fell back over the pouf, her legs kicking in the air.

Oz looked in the mirror. The black and red did remind him a little of Damien...and the leather jacket...and tight pants, and...

Oz ran their fingers through their hair, messing it up and pushing it back. They turned sharply on their heel, put their hands on their hips, and screamed. “GAHHHH! WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT, NOOB?” As soon as it came out of their mouth, Oz cracked up. Vicky broke down in hysterics. “Oh my god, oh my god that’s too good!” she said.

Amira did not look amused. “Hey. This outfit looks nothing like anything Damien LaVey would wear. It’s elegance and class are lightyears ahead of anything he could put together!”

“A-amira,” Vicky laughed. “It’s exactly something Damien would wear.”

“Is not!”

“Is so!”

“Is not!”

“Uh huh!”

Amira said, “LAVEY AND I DRESS NOTHING ALIKE! Okay?”

Vicky cackled. Oz scooted themself back into the dressing room before any real violence broke out. They did hear one concerning squawking noise, but Vicky laughed immediately afterwards, so hopefully she was okay.

They turned back towards the dressing room mirror, and nearly laughed again. They stifled it, because Amira really did like this outfit, and it was very nice. Just not for them. _I should probably get down to figuring out some kind of Oz-style._ Trying on clothes and joking around was fun, but they did have get home on time, and when they looked at their watch it was getting close to 9:30.

They reached around in the jumble of words that Amira and Vicky had been throwing around, looking for some kind of ground to build on. They did like how crisp Vicky’s sweaters were—she looked like someone who could command respect with her razor-sharp intelligence. But they didn’t want to be a copy-cat...

 _And I care a little more about the keeping my clothes neat_ , they thought, poking a finger through a burn hole near one of the cuffs. _Crisp, and neat._

They started flipping through all the things they’d brought into the changing room, pulling out what caught their eye, and finding things that might match. When they had a full outfit, they put it on before they could second-guess themself.

A simple white, collared button-down buttoned up to the collar, with a yellow sweater, black skinny jeans, and their normal boots. Does this count as a style? It was a bunch of simple things thrown together, and while it did look nice, it wasn’t especially striking or special. Their phobias popped up, and after a moment of tense consideration, gave them a thumbs up.

“Everything all right? Do you need help?” Vicky asked.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean.” They took a deep breath, pulled open the curtain, and stepped out. “What do you think?”

They both looked at them intently. Amira stared very hard, and Vicky pinched her lip between her fingers, tilting her head to the side. “Huh.”

They said, “I...I don’t look stupid, do I? I mean, I thought—I thought it was nice...like, like a little dressy and put together, but also casual, and I can still move around in it, and...”

“Oz,” Vicky said. They jumped a little and cringed, realizing that they had been blathering on. She put her hands on their shoulders. “You look awesome.”

“I do?” they asked.

“Yeah!” She turned them towards the full-length mirror. “How do you feel?”

They looked at themselves again. “I feel really good.” Their shoulders relaxed when they said it. They stuck their hands in their jeans pockets.

“Then go for it! That’s when you know you’ve found your style—when you feel ready to kick the world’s ass, and look fine doing it,” Amira said, holding up a clenched fist.

Oz felt like they could stand taller. They straightened out a little more, and made themself say it. “I...I do. I do!”

“Fuck yeah! Work it, Oz!”

“You’re awesome!” Vicky yelled. She held out both hands, and they high-fived her.

Amira went back over to the racks of clothes. “We should find you a few other outfits before we get out of here. You can’t wear the same shirt every day.”

They went through every rack again, looking for button-ups, pants, and belts that would be the right mixture of classic and casual. Oz found a bunch of sweaters identical to the one they tried on and decided to get them all. “It can be your signature item!” Vicky said. “Your thing.” Amira wasn’t as excited about it, but said, “We’ll work on incorporating other colors as your next step. All in time, my pupil.”

They were putting clothes on the reject rack when Polly strolled through the door. Owen was half a step behind her, looking dazed and horny, and Brian, who looked harassed and slightly disgusted. (Oz thought briefly back to Desiderata and all that they didn’t know about it.) The person at the front tried to start their spiel about how they were closing soon. Polly blew at kiss at him, and he stuttered uselessly as she headed back to their camp near the dressing room.

“Hey, guys! What’s...” She trailed off when she saw Oz, her eyes widening and her jaw a little slack.

Amira grinned, leaning her arm on their shoulder, gesturing to them. “Kid cleans up good, right?”

Polly grinned and crossed her arms over her chest. “Hell yeah! Look at you, Ozzy. What a cutie!”

They blushed. “Thanks.”

“Sorry I didn’t come shopping with you guys. Got distracted.” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Well, it just means you owe us an afternoon of you all to ourselves,” Amira drawled, slinging her arm around Polly’s waist.

“Sounds awesome! Make sure Oz comes, too,” Polly said, and winked at them.

In order that no one would see how red their face was turning, Oz retrieved Vicky’s sweater from their stuff. “I should change back into my clothes.”

“You should wear that out of the store,” Amira said.

“Ooh, we could hit up a club! There’s a new place called The Slutty Raven that’s supposed to be _in_ -sane,” Polly said.

Their watch nipped their wrist: the first warning. _Fucking...I hate my life_. Oz said, “I...I have to be home by ten, but, t-thanks for inviting me!”

“Aww, no fun.” Polly pouted. “Who goes to bed before 5AM?”

Oz went back into dressing room while Amira and Vicky asked Polly more about the club. Putting their leggings back on and catching themselves in the mirror afterwards made them wilt a little. They were so embarrassing. _Why can’t they see that these stupid rules are destroying my life?_ They heard their uncle’s voice in the back of their mind. _A he-shadow is not to be seen. He is meant to support his female relatives and enhance the prestige of the family name._ Oz felt their many teeth gnash. _Joke’s on you. I’m not a he-shadow. As soon as I can, I'm going to send your precious clothes up in flames._

As they were finishing paying (it wiped out pretty much everything they had, which was unfortunate), Oz asked Amira, “Can I keep these at your place, just until Monday? I don’t want my uncle finding them before I can bring them to school.”

“‘Course! You should come over before school and we’ll get ready together.” She pointed at him. “Don’t show up before 9AM. I will not answer the door.”

“My first class starts at nine,” Oz said.

“Another opportunity to improve your reputation! You don’t want to be that monster who never misses a class and comes perfectly on time every day. It’s common knowledge who the teacher’s pets are.”

“Vicky’s always on time for class,” they said.

“Yeah, and she gets crunk with Polly on weekends. You’re not there yet. Just trust me, okay?” She grinned. “By the end of it, you won’t even notice. Hell, you may even like ditching. It’s a hell of a lot more interesting than haunted math.”

“Kiddos.” Owen approached them. “Polly, Vicky, and I are heading out. You in, Amira?”

Amira said, “Nah, thanks. I’m going to stick with Oz. It was nice to meet you.”

Owen was out the door when Oz remembered. They ran after him. “Hey, wait!”

Amira called after them. “Oz, where are you going? Hold up!”

They managed to tug on the sleeve of Owen’s jacket, and had to stop short to avoid smashing right into his chest. Amira crashed into their back, the bags with their clothes crinkling. “If you’re leaving, who’s driving us home?” Oz asked.

Owen put his hands in his pockets. “Oh.”

Polly yelled from down the street. “OWEN! Are you coming?”

“Ooh, are Amira and Oz coming?” Vicky yelled. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Did you change your minds? You should come! It’ll be amazing!”

“Be there in a sec!” Owen called back. He definitely did not look like he was jumping at the bit to head back to the van.

 _Oh hell no._ Oz fixed their gaze on him, and with as little power as possible, put a little Fear into him. Just small stuff—prickles and streams of guilt and doubt down his back, and the flash of a feeling of walking into a chilling breeze when you knew someone was behind you. Owen stiffened, and he didn’t—or couldn’t—look away from Oz’s eyes.

There was a quiet, long-suffering sigh. “I’ll do it.” Brian leaned against a parking meter, his hand unenthusiastically raised.

Owen shook his head, as if coming out of a trance. He opened his mouth, but it took him another moment before he said, “You can’t take the car. I’ll need it to take Polly and Vicky home.”

Brian said, “First of all, there’s no way you’re driving the van Mom uses to get to work after you’ve been partying all night with Polly Geist.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’ll drive back and pick you guys up when I’m done dropping them off.”

“Are you sure?” Oz said. “We don’t want to inconvenience you.” _That, and your brother should have to do it._

Brian said, “Yeah. Let’s go.” Owen tossled Brian’s hair before he started jogging down the street after Polly. “You’re awesome, bro. I’ll see you later? Text me!”

Oz glared at him, and before Owen fully turned around, his eyes widened a little, his breath becoming ragged. Oz blinked a few times, making sure their Influence over him was broken. _Geez. Control yourself._

“Thanks, Owen,” Brian said. He shook his head, flipping through his keys. “Full disclosure: I don’t technically have my license yet, so if we get pulled over, we’re screwed.” He looked deeply harassed, and Oz felt bad. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this,” they said.

“Yeah, well, we brought you here. Only fair we should bring you back. Where are you going?” he asked.

“I’ll have to direct you. It doesn’t have an address.”

Another long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Amira was already in the front passenger seat and buckled in when they got there. Brian stopped short. “I haven’t unlocked the doors,” he said. She rolled down the window and leaned one arm out. “Yeah, not exactly a deterrent for me. Oh, hey, Oz. In the future: the eternal struggle between all friends of Vicky and Amira is who gets shotgun. Whoever doesn’t is the backseat loser for the day. Consider this your first of many crushing defeats at my hands.” She grinned, her eyes glinting.

“Oh. Okay.” They rubbed the back of their neck. “I don’t mind sitting in the back if it matters to you that much.”

Amira sighed. “Another thing to add to the list. Inculcating in you a sense of crushing competition and rivalry between friends who would otherwise literally die for each other. Don’t worry, you’ll pick it up as we go along.”

Brian unlocked the car, and he and Oz got in. As he turned on the ignition, he said, “Well, ‘in the future’: my car, my decisions. Shotgun calls mean nothing to me. I won’t drive until the person I want is in the front.” 

“Didn’t you say this was your mom’s car? So you mean her decisions,” she said.

Brian sighed. “Where am I going first? Wherever fire-girl lives or no-address?”

“Take Amira home first,” Oz said. “Thank you, Brian.”

“7569 Cherry Drive,” Amira said.

When they stopped outside of Amira’s house, Oz helped her bring up the bags of new clothes. “Text me tomorrow, and we’ll plan for Monday. It’s gonna rule, Oz, you’ll see,” she said. She took her own boots off, and stuffed them into the top of one of the bags.

“I know.”

She grinned. “Awww, come ‘ere, you!” She pulled them into a tight hug. “This was great. It’s been a long time since we had so much FUN just hanging around town with no arson, robberies, or drugs involved!”

“I had a great time.” They tightened their grip on her, and whispered in her ear, “Thank you. You have no idea how much it means to me.”

They let go, and she held up her first. “See ya.”

They bumped it. “Bye.” They waved goodbye, and Amira went in her front door. When Oz went to get back in the backseat, Brian said, “You gonna sit up front? Especially if your place doesn’t have an address, you should be there to point out the directions.”

“Oh! Right. Sorry.” They didn't ride in cars often. They got in the front, and looked both right and left, sensing the ground and the air.

Most shadow-beings were able to make portals out of pretty much anything, though most opted to use a corner or door, so as not to raise potential prey's suspicion. But Oz hadn't passed their exams in Dark Abilities yet, and wouldn't be allowed to take the test for at least two more years. They had to go through the informal entrance, which had a security camera posted. This had been devised through counsel with their mother's military advisors, including Serafina, who derived way too much pleasure from making sure their parents could keep tabs on them at all times. _"We wouldn't want sweet baby Ozimiri to wander off and get hurt, would we?"_

The informal entrance did change locations every now and then. It was safest to call out to it, and follow the trail that it lay. They caught the end of its thread, and pointed left. “That way; then turn left at the crossing.”

He said, “Sounds good.” 

Brian raised an eyebrow. “She lives in a nice neighborhood.”

Oz looked out the window. They were all mansions, with large lawns, tall gates, towers, and balconies. “Yeah, it is,” they said.

For most of the way, there was silence except for Oz’s directions; yet for some reason, it didn’t feel awkward. Brian seemed totally at ease. When they'd gotten out of the city and onto the highway, he said, “Polly said you’re a new student or something?”

They sighed. “No. I started school here last year.”

“Really?”

“I’m not very memorable, I guess.” They pointed. “Take this next exit.” They merged from the main road onto a smaller one. “Stay on this road for the next 5.979 miles,” they said.

Brian looked at them. “For...are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“5.979 miles?”

“Yes,” they said. “Is something wrong?”

“Why don’t you just say 6 miles? Also, how did you come up with 5.979?”

“That’s what it is. If you go six, you’ll overshoot it.”

Brian raised an eyebrow, but Oz just stared at him. He sighed again. “Fine. Okay.” The silence fell again. When they reached 5.975 miles, Oz pointed to a copse of trees. “There.” Just out of sight and easy to miss, was a dirt road shrouded in darkness by tall trees. Brian made the turn just in time. “Geez. I never would have picked that out,” he said.

“Hence, 5.979 miles,” Oz said. “Just follow this road.” The road became a winding dirt path, and Brian slowed down a little, being cautious. The drive was smooth, despite the occasional pothole. “You’re a really good driver,” they said.

“Thanks. At least there's no patrol cars lurking around here.”

Oz saw them pass the uppermost finger of the bottomless lake. “Just up ahead,” they said.

The house at the end of the lane was an old farmhouse, slightly sagging. The lights were on in the kitchen window, framed by closed, green-and-white checked curtains. “This is it?” Brian asked. Oz nodded, and unbuckled their seatbelt. Brian looked at his watch. “9:54. You’re 6 minutes early.”

They said, “Thank you. I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here. Just follow the road back the way you came, but, um...” They reached for their backpack. “When you get to where it meets the paved road, turn the opposite direction from the way we came, okay?”

“Why? I can just go back—”

“Promise me. The opposite direction.”

“Uh. Sure?” he said.

They got out of the car and closed the door. They started towards the house, when they heard the window roll down. “Oz.” They stopped. Brian cleared his throat, and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m not very memorable either, I guess.” He shrugged. “So that makes two of us.” 

Oz smiled, and hitched their backpack up on their shoulder. “Good night, Brian. Drive safely.”

“Always.”

Oz waved goodbye as Brian pulled back and around, and then headed down the dirt road. As soon as the headlights were far enough away, he ducked towards the edge of the forest and fished their robes from their backpack. They pulled Vicky’s sweater over their head and carefully folded it and stowed it away between their textbooks before throwing the robe over their head. It showed a half-inch of their new jeans, and they prayed for a miracle.

It turned out, there was a God: they got up to their bedroom with no issues. Their mother was working at the kitchen table when they came in, but she barely even looked up at them. “How was your…” she mumbled. She didn’t finish her sentence.

“Fine,” they said. They claimed the dinner plate that was keeping warm on top of the stove. 

“Mmm,” she said. She plucked out a single sheet and made a face at it.

Oz decided to hedge their bets. “W-where’s Uncle Vadim?”

“Entertaining,” she said. “I wouldn’t disturb him.”

Indeed, when they tip-toed up to the door leading to the other tower, they felt the resonance of multiple telepathic streams, and the tinny clank of the gramophone. They got out of there as fast as they could.

As soon as they were safe in their own PJs, they downloaded STATSWhore onto their phone. They couldn’t get a clear picture with their camera (they never could), so it took a blood sample.

SMARTS: 8  
CREATIVITY: 9  
CHARM: N/A – SEE A DOCTOR???  
BOLDNESS: 3  
FUN: 2  
MONEY: 0

ITEMS: WEIRD JAPANESE LOLLIPOP  
BADGES: NONE

This was what Mamimi had been so against? It didn’t seem that bad. In fact, it seemed incredibly useful. A reliable system upon which to quantify and compare aspects of your personality with others?

They opened the description of their one item. Weird Japanese Lollipop: A shansho pepper-and-yuzu flavored treat, sure to give any situation some extra spice!

Huh. They started looking up the STATS of people at school. Amira was right—her BOLDNESS was way higher than theirs, and Vicky’s FUN was at 8. Mamimi didn’t have a profile, but surprisingly neither did Scott, or any of the other popular kids.

It was past three AM when they finally fell sleep, their phone still in their hand.


	3. Nothing ventured...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...nothing gained.

It was 9:03 when Oz texted. Amira didn’t answer, so they decided to throw a few pebbles at her window.

They wanted to trust her that everything would be fine. They were missing Haunted Math, and it was their least favorite subject anyway, but with every minute that passed it felt more and more like they were being watched. As if at any moment, someone was going to jump out of the bushes with a phone, ready to call their moms.

It took twenty minutes for Amira to respond. An upper story window opened, and Amira poked her head out. Her hair burned close to her head in soft blue flames. “Oz,” she sighed. She leaned against the sill, rubbing her eyes. “When I said, ‘not before 9,’ this is not what I meant.”

“Please let me in,” they begged. “Someone may see me!”

“No one’s going to...” She rubbed her hand over her face. “Hang on.” 

They kept glancing over their shoulder, until, finally, the back door unlatched. “Make yourself at home,” Amira said. “I need about 10 cups of coffee before we can have a coherent conversation.”

Oz stood in slight awe in Amira’s living room. It looked like it came straight out of a magazine: the walls were a tasteful cream, offsetting a huge pink-brick hearth that took up the whole back wall. A fire crackled within. There were colorful works of art, and the couch had bright pink, yellow, and blue throw pillows made of embroidered silk.

Amira stopped in a pink-brick archway. “Hey. You coming?”

They nodded and quickly followed. “Your house is very nice,” they said.

“Thanks. Mom's an interior designer,” she said.

The kitchen was as put-together as the living room, with blue-and-white tiling and yellow walls. Amira plonked a little copper pot into the sink and filled it with water. “Do you drink coffee?” she asked.

“Sometimes.”

She raised an eyebrow. “ _Strong_ coffee? Think gasoline.” They hesitated, then nodded. “Cool. In terms of breakfast, there’s whatever in the fridge you know how to make, or cereal, which I can make for you,” she said.

“That’s okay. I ate earlier,” they said.

She rubbed her eyes again. “Do I want to know what time that was?”

“Five in the morning,” they said. 

“HO-ly...” She stared at them dumbfounded. “There’s no way the world exists before seven.”

“It’s part of the trade-off for going to public school. I have to get up early to practice shadow-stuff,” they said.

“That sucks,” she said. The water came up to the boil, and she added coffee (which smelled amazing). She made herself a bowl of cereal, and hopped up on the counter to eat it.

Oz finally worked up the courage to ask. “Don’t your parents notice that you go to school so late? Don’t they get mad?”

She smirked as she chewed, and shrugged one shoulder casually. “They used to, but I wore them down. It was a pain in the ass for them to try to keep track of where I was. Mom’s like you: up and out the door at the crack of dawn. My dad teaches astronomy at the university, so he spends a lot of nights researching and usually doesn’t come home until after his morning classes. As long as I keep my grades high enough to get into college, they don’t interfere.” She hopped down off the counter and took two little cups and saucers out of the cabinet. Before pouring in the coffee she added a bit of cardamom powder to the bottom. “Let it sit for a minute before you drink it, or its all grounds.”

They took a sip after blowing on it, and felt a thrill pass through all of their edges. Amira was already pouring herself a second cup. She took out her phone and slid it over to them. “Here you go. The whole fam.”

Amira looked a lot like her dad. He was a good six inches taller than the rest of them, dressed all in white with a blue embroidered kufi and a wide smile. Her mom was very stylish, and had a knowing gleam in her eye. Amira and a younger person stood in front of them. “The other person is your sibling?” they asked. They had a smile and dimples like Amira’s father.

Amira nodded. “My sister Masozi. She just started in middle school.” She poured herself another cup. “All right. Let’s get ready before you have an anxiety attack."

They changed while she put on her make-up at her vanity, its mirror surrounded by a red-and-gold mosaic. When they came out, she whistled low.

She turned them this way and that, inspecting them. She nodded. “A vast improvement. Wow. You were okay before, but now you’re edging in the territory of hot librarian.” 

“Really?” they said, looking themself over again. The hottest librarian they knew was Aleksey, the archivist at the Royal Library and the partner of Jūratė Vilkaitė, their mother’s top general. He had a gentle face and impossibly wide, hypnotic eyes that left Oz weak at the knees.

Earlier that morning he had come to drop off some materials their mother had requested. As he came into the kitchen, he said, “Normally I would never make an exception like this. Everyone who requests materials has to come and wait in the queue in person. But…since Birutė was coming to the house anyway, I thought I would save time and ride with her.” He placed a slim hand on the box. His eyes somehow got even larger. Their gray mist swirled in a way that reminded Oz of the improbability of this tiny, insignificant universe. “Please do not let these out of your sight until they are delivered to Comrade Kalvaitytė. Do not under _any_ circumstances allow Vadimas to take possession of them. Will you do this for me?” he asked.

He was using a low level of Influence to try to assure it, but he didn’t really need to. “Of course,” they said. They held in a sigh of longing. “Comrade.”

Any compliment that put them in the general vicinity of Aleksey Vilkaitis was an honor indeed.

Oz said, “Forget me. _You_ look amazing.” Both Amira’s cat-eyes were perfectly drawn, and she looked fierce as all hell. 

She grinned at her own reflection. “I know. It’s almost a crime. Oh, here. Take this.” She looped a red silk tie with a subtle leaf pattern underneath the collar of their shirt, and tied it. “Something a little fancier for your first day. It’s my dad’s. You can borrow it.”

“Are you sure?” Oz asked.

She said, “He never wears this one. He doesn’t like red, but you don’t tell that to your six-year-old daughter who thinks everyone likes the same color as her.” Once it was tied, she tucked it into their sweater. “There. Perfect combo of chic and casual.”

“You think so?” They looked at themselves carefully in the mirror. “I look...normal?” they asked.

“Way better than ‘normal,’” she said.

Oz took a deep breath, and nodded at their reflection one last time. “Okay. How are we going to get to school?”

“City bus goes by in about 10 minutes, and drops us off at the head of a nature trail that runs along the back of the school’s property. That way no one catches us sneaking in late,” she said. “I’ve done it a million times, Oz. Don’t worry. The sky will not fall.”

They kept their head down. They didn’t tell Amira this because it would only make them look like a loser, but their mother had been a negotiator for the Monstropolis’ Transportation Workers union. Even though it had happened ten billion years ago when they were still using trolleys, Oz was regularly recognized by the city bus drivers.

They could finally breathe when they faced the wall of pines surrounding the school, accompanied by the soothing scent of tequila on the rising wind. “See? No problems!” Amira said. She leaned on their shoulder to put on her boots. She’d taken them off before going into the woods so that the heels wouldn’t sink into the dirt.

“Uh huh,” Oz said cheerily. Their body was starting to consume its own anxiety.

Someone came out of the dark of the wood and ran towards them, waving. “Hey! Oz!” Mamimi pulled her headphones down, and gave them a _crushing_ hug. “Holy shit. I almost didn't recognize you! The ‘rents finally let up?”

“No,” they said. “I…decided not to care.”

She grinned. “ _Awesome!_ You look great,” she said.

“Thanks,” they said, rubbing the back of their neck.

Amira not-so-subtly leaned her elbow on Oz's shoulder, popping her hip a bit. “Heeey, Nakamura.”

Mamimi noticed her for the first time. “Hey,” she said. She turned back to Oz. “Look, I can't talk long because Mixa the Bee-Boy and Lana Esposito are having a beatboxing throwdown in ten, but I’ll be here from fifth until the end of the day.” She headed down the path towards the bathrooms. “Come hang out?”

Oz said, “I have sixth period free. I’ll see you then?”

She laughed, and saluted them. “Some things never change. Later.”

Amira practically yanked them through the back door to the school before cornering them. “Mamimi Nakamura _talks_ to you? Why didn't you say anything? Dude, she's class-A!”

They held up their hands. “She’s what? I don’t know. I guess it didn’t come up?”

She looked at them with new-found respect. “You are truly an enigma,” she said.

They made their way to the science classrooms. Vicky was in the Chem room, trying to close her backpack around several jumbo-sized bottles of hydrochloric acid. When she saw Oz, she gasped and hugged them. “Look at you! You look awesome!” she said.

As soon as she let go, they grabbed her shoulders and gripped them tightly. “Please tell me everything I missed in class!”

Amira sighed. Vicky giggled. “Sure! You can copy my notes over lunch.”

“Thank you!” they said.

She brought them both in close. “I have a plan for the morning. I may have found…” She looked around, checking if anyone was listening. “ _The hard copies of the permanent records_.”

“What?” Amira said.

“Those don’t really exist, do they?” Oz whispered. “The teachers all have a chip in their brains that automatically updates them!” 

“That’s what they _tell_ you, but do you remember Jonni Price and his FUB DIP business? You know, where he cuts cases of the stuff with sedatives and sells it to the elementary school PTA wholesale?” Vicky asked.

“Uh. No,” Amira said.

“Exactly,” she said. “The cops busted him in the middle of a drama club meeting. He’s club VP, and when they were cuffing him, Suspiria said she would have to go ‘see the doctor’ for her ‘headache.’” She raised an eyebrow. “Today I asked around and no one remembered him getting arrested, or the semi-annual FUB DIP sale that happened last week.”

Amira said, “It’s like it’s been…”

“Erased from the record,” Oz said.

“Let’s go,” Amira said.

Twenty minutes later, they were creeping along a hallway that looked more like the passageway in an abandoned mental asylum, than a bomb shelter. Vicky tripped on a cracked wooden wheelchair lying on its side in the hallway. Amira said, “I can barely see anything.” They were walking with a little flame she’d lit on her fingertip, but it wasn’t much.

“It’s fine. There’s nothing dangerous down here,” Oz said. They saw faceless flesh-worm slither toward Amira’s ankle. The grabbed it, sucked it down, and devoured it. A pleased thrill passed through their Form—its Fear was particularly juicy, heightened by the general scarcity of prey.

“So…I had a question about STATs,” they said, wiping the corners of their mouth. 

“Sure. Hey, Vee, you do know where we’re going, right?” Amira asked.

“I followed Suspiria in from her car this morning,” Vicky said. “Ooh!” On the hallway floor, was a femur bone with a scrap of pant leg still attached. Vicky wound the cloth around the knobbly end, and Amira held her lit finger to it until the fabric caught. Vicky held the torch closer to the strange symbols on one of the doors. She strode further down the hallway.

“How accurate is STATSWhore? Are there any other comparable apps that people actually use?” Oz asked. “I keep getting notifications with this weird error message? Plus, it says my CREATIVITY is higher than my SMARTS, and I’m not sure that’s right.”

Amira asked, “You took the quiz?”

“Huh? You can check your stats directly,” Oz said.  
She reached into her backpack and pulled out a very pink magazine. She said, “Yeah, but you still wanna take the quiz. The dev is an alum, so there’s a specific one for Spooky High. You game the answers to give yourself the STATS you want.”

“That doesn’t say anything objective about me or my personality,” they said.

Vicky said, “STATSWhore isn’t programmed to reflect reality. It’s changes reality to reflect its own values!” She grinned. “Like all systems of social status and exclusion!”

Amira used Oz’s phone to scan a QR code in the magazine. “Now. What’s your ideal first date?” she asked, reading. “A, meeting your crush to compare crown jewel collections. B, conducting eighteen rounds of heated negotiations that end in your hostile takeover of a newly combined World Treasury. C, going for a long run together. D, going for a long run from _the cops_ together. E, sitting by the fire with a glass of wine while mercilessly picking apart the latest post-structuralist novel. Or F, forget the date, let’s get down to business. Winky-face.” 

Oz hesitated. These quizzes were always so obvious. They said, “…C.”

At the end, Oz’s MONEY had somehow gone up, and they had a number for their CHARM, 6. “Is that bad?” they asked.

“Eh. Not the best, not the worst. I’m still at 6, too. Twinsies!” Amira said. 

“Hey guys! Here!” With some effort, Vicky pulled open a metal door.

The room they entered was full of shelves upon shelves of crystals, each in the shape of a blossoming flower, lined up in rows. They seemed to glow with a light all their own. “Wow,” Oz breathed. 

“Hey, watch your step! Broken glass,” Amira said. Underneath their feet were a whole pile of…petals. They were smashed, and left on the ground. “Wrong room?” she asked. “Doesn’t look like there’s any records here.”

Vicky drooped a bit. “But…” She went up to one of the shelves. It was set off to the side, and rather than being carved out of the bedrock of malachite that the school stood on, it was a cheap-o metal one. “Can I have a light?”

Amira held up her fingertip. Vicky took one of the crystals from the shelf and hovered it over the flame’s tip. 

The room was filled with white light. When their eyes adjusted, the walls, ceiling, and floor were covered with words, criss-crossing each other like vines. Whispering to each other.

 _Zelle Fury – DOB 2/29/198X – Gender: Intersex, she/her pronouns_ Turning the crystal in different directions revealed different years’ of grades; parent-teacher conference transcripts; career counselling notes. “Whoa,” Oz and Amira said. Oz picked up a couple of the broken petals from the pile on the floor and positioned them to catch the light of Amira’s finger.

_Dismembered Mr. Bonaventure’s—_

_Caught under the bleachers of the football field engaging in unprotected sexual intercourse with Gab—_

“Jackpot,” Amira said, her eyes sparkling.

She cackled in delight as she plucked individual petals off hers and smashed them on the ground. Vicky pocketed hers whole, but after trying twenty or thirty different crystals, they couldn’t find Oz’s. “We’re running short on time,” Amira said. “We can come back later if you need something taken care of.”

“It’s fine.” They felt a charge creep up their back. They looked over their shoulder. “Does something seem…off to you? Like we’re missing something?” they asked. They couldn’t quite put their finger on it.

Amira put a few more crystals from a shelf labelled, “FRESHMAN CLASS” into her backpack, and zipped it up. “Okay! We should have everything we need for the afternoon, but it’ll have to wait until after gym.”

“Why did we need that hydrochloric acid?” Oz asked.

“I don’t know. I saw Suspiria coming in with some,” Vicky said. Amira opened the door to the hallway.

The way out was taken up completely by a huge, toothy maw. It quivered. “ _RoOAAAAAAAAAA—_ "

They screamed. Amira and Oz slammed the door shut, but a few teeth got caught in the crack. “ _Vicky_!” Amira yelled.

“Just a second!” Vicky said, struggling to get the bottles out of her bag.

Something slammed its entire weight against the door, and Amira and Oz were thrown back.

* * *

In the janitor’s closet outside the library, mops and brooms started shaking. One hit against a dustpan and knocked it off its hook. An empty bucket fell on its side.

A manhole cover popped up like a tin can lid, and Amira poked her head out.

She came face-to-face with a calendar featuring two mostly naked, muscular he-bears coating each other in ranch dressing. “ _Ahhhh_!”

“ _What? What’s wrong?_ ” Oz asked telepathically.

“Are you okay?” Vicky called.

Amira put a hand to her heart. “Geez. As if I haven’t had enough today.” She opened the closet door and peered out, looking both ways. “…Okay. Coast’s clear.”

The three of them beat it out of there before Martin could show up. “That was crazy,” Amira said. She was trying hard to look business-as-usual as she walked down the hall, while also walking as fast as she could. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unsee that,” Vicky said. 

“Why would you want to? It’ll be a story for the ages, how we got out of _that_ crazy-ass situation. I can’t believe we’re alive!” Amira said.

Oz nuzzled their cheek against their right phobia. It snuffled and yawned. It was full after it’s meal.

Amira lightly kicked Oz on the butt. “Hey. Now that the morning’s in the bag, for lunch, why don’t we give you a shot at upping your STATS? You can have first pick of the cafeteria and everything.”

“That’s unusually altruistic of you, Amira,” Vicky said.

“Doesn’t do either of us any good, if their FUN and MONEY stay so low,” she said.

“Finding a way to earn some MONEY would be amazing,” Oz said.

Out of nowhere, they were slammed up against the lockers, knocking the wind out of them.

“Aw man. Sorry, bro!”

Oz shook the spots from their vision. Amira said, “Ooh, Scott! Here boy!” They saw Amira throw the charred femur down the hallway.

Scott Howl trotted back to them on all fours. Amira slung her arm around their shoulder and whispered, “Don't worry, I got you.” She grinned. “My boy with a Y, meet my boi with an I! Scott, this is Oz. They/them pronouns.” Amira looked unusually proud. “Scott and I had gym together last year.”

The bone dropped from Scott's mouth into his hands. He said, “Oz...?”

Oz worked up the courage to look him in the face. His liquid blue eyes blinked twice, taking them in. Scott said, “It’s you.”

Their stomach twisted.

The door into the stairwell burst open, and a girl came marching out. “Aurora thinks _I_ can’t handle another overnight mission?!? Just because I _happened_ to leave the back door of the cabin open when we had finally trapped the Captain to stop him from opening the Netherworld Orifice? How was I supposed to know it was written in an ancient prophecy that I would do that?!?” She snarled.

She didn’t seem to realize that she was talking to herself in a deserted high school hallway. “Um,” Amira said.

“She goes here,” Vicky said. “She told me her name once, but then she chased me to that windmill on the edge of town and tried to lock me in it, so I deleted her contact.”

The girl was still talking to herself. She stomped her foot, leaving an actual dent in the floor. “I’ll show her. I’ll prove I’m ready! I’m a goddamn _Slayer_! I’ll gank every monster in this stupid school! I don’t care.”

She looked up. Her eyes landed right on Scott.

She raised a huge silver knife over her head, and with a great somersault and a _leap,_ she flew through the air at him. 

“Okay, quick!” Amira hissed. “What’s the plan? Classic misdirection?”

“That tends to be SMART,” Vicky said. “Unless it’s something FUN, like using chalk and drugs to create a vision of her father that mentally scars her and sends her off-course.”

Amira asked, “Do you want to take point on this, Oz? Oz?”

Oz wasn’t paying attention anymore. They were bringing out their teeth, readying themself to tackle the Slayer to the ground, slip under the shadows of her eyelids, and consume her organs from the inside while playing her worst fears in front of her eyes.

Before the Slayer could plunge the knife or Oz could pounce, Scott caught her in his arms right out of the air. She flailed. “What the—?!”

“Gotcha!” he said. She stared at him. His tail started wagging. “Wow, cool jump! You must have trained really hard to do that.” 

Her cheeks started to turn…pink? “I…I…well…yeah?” she said. She didn’t say any more, though she was becoming more and more sweaty. Scott kept right on smiling.

She seemed to snap out of it. She hopped down out of his arms, scoffing. “I…I grant you my mercy, creature! You’re obviously an innocent bystander in the fight against evil, even if you are one of the enemy. It would be against my code of ethics to mindlessly slaughter you.”

 _Code of ethics?_ Was she serious?

She grinned darkly, and smacked her fist into her open palm. “I know! I’ll start a years-long hunt with two sexy yet undeniably evil foes. We’ll chase each other in circles for years, in an endless cycle of violence and hatred, though sometimes teaming up for adventures full of awkward sexual tension!” She cackled. Amira, Oz, and Vicky looked at each other awkwardly.

The bell rang, and the hallway flooded with kids. The people coming in from the library had doped-up expressions, and a weird purple slime clinging between their nose and their bottom lip. Liam de Lioncourt was the last one out, typing on his phone as he walked.

The Slayer went for him so quickly that Oz had to stumble out of the way. “Hey, watch it!” Amira said.

The Slayer grabbed Liam and slammed him up against the lockers by his shirt collar. She said, “Prepare to die, scum!”

“What?!? Who are you?” Liam asked.

Oz landed smack into Vera as she was coming out of the classroom. "S-sorry! Sorry," they said. Her upper lip curled in distaste. Apparently, whatever cache they cultivated with her yesterday didn't carry over to today.

Vicky took out the hard copy of her permanent record and, whistling, tossed it down the hall gently. Scott’s eyes zeroed in on it immediately.

“More fetch? All right!” Scott ran after it. The Slayer gasped. “A sex doll’s eye crystal? Hey, hands off! It’s mine!”

“You like fetch, too?” Scott asked.

Liam huffed, and brushed of his shirt with both hands. He nodded at Vicky. “Thanks.”

“Eh, you know.” she asked. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Are you okay?”

“Do you mind?” Vera asked. She pushed Oz out of the way to join Liam. She gave them a withering look over her shoulder. “Clod.” Liam snorted in agreement. He plucked at Amira’s dad’s tie. “Obviously copying me, in the most insipid and predictable way imaginable. Everyone knows the full-length tie practically went out with the stereopticon.”

Vera said, “And those shoes. Did you get lost on the way to a _Ghost Rider_ cosplay convention?” They both laughed. Oz looked down at their clothes, which suddenly looked a lot like thrift store trash, rather than the best thing that had ever happened to them.

Everyone was watching Oz, waiting. Amira tugged on their sleeve. “Come on,” she said. “It’s okay.”

They tried, when they ran smack into the hard, chiseled plains of someone's pecs. Damien's eyes glittered. “Sup. _Nerd_.”

Amira muttered, “The Unholy Trinity assembled.”

“Let's get out of here!” Vicky said.

Damien cut Oz off from them. He said, “Hey, Howl. Hold down this loser for me while I beat their face in.”

“Huh?” Scott said. “Why would I do that? That’s mean.”

Damien scoffed. “Spot on, big guy.”

“They didn’t do anything to you,” Scott said.

“Like I care!” he said.

While this unfolded, Oz was trying to get out of the iron grip that had taken over their chest and heart. People were still staring at them, snickering and whispering, waiting for Damien to start beating them up. His fist was only tightening on their shirt.

Their phone buzzed; it was a notification from STATSWhore. _Nice going, loser. Life up here ain’t peaches, is it? But hey, you still can check your items!_

They reached into their pocket and took out Mamimi’s lollipop. They didn’t remember taking it out the pocket of their robes last night. What had Mamimi said this was for again? _Not like I have much else to work with._ They unwrapped it and stuck it in their mouth.

A few monsters’ eyes widened. Considering that Damien spent most of his day wailing on people, most kids ran for the hills as soon as he came stalking down the hall. Such a casual action in the face of death made Oz look very nonchalant and devil-may-care. And—

 ** _WHOA_**. What was that flavor?!? Just underneath the subtle tongue-numbing of sansho and the nuanced zing of yuzu, was an indescribable sensation. Like they were driving a formula one car as fast as it could go, blasting death metal while kicking someone in the nuts. They almost spit it out. _What the fuck, Mamimi?!?_

The choices they may have made before were erased from their mind. Oz had vaguely thought that it would be pretty easy and SMART(?) to use Scott against Damien. If they made up some bullshit about how they and Damien were playing a new full-contact sport that could only be won by hanging your opponent off the school's flagpole by their underwear, Scott would probably rush to join in.

That didn't matter anymore. They had a new idea. Something impossibly dangerous, and incredibly stupid.

They decided to stand up for themself.

They said, “Go fuck yourself, Damien.”

The hallway went silent. Damien stared. Then, he _snarled_. “What did you say to me?” he asked.

“You heard me,” they said. “If you think I'm going to stand here and play the victim so you can feel like you're some big, strong man, you can take a fucking hike.”

He got up in their face and said, “Okay. You want me to give it to you so bad? How about we meet in the parking lot after school?” Everyone _oohed_.

Amira said, “Oh, we’ll be there, and we’ll pound your face in.”

“That would be fucking hilarious. This noob couldn’t get one hit in if they tried,” Damien spat.

Not to mention that Oz literally couldn’t. They had a piano lesson at five, and their mom told them she would be waiting at the door when they were supposed to be home from school. “ _I have a meeting with the heads of the governorates five minutes afterwards. If I am late, a five-year attempt to finally nationalize the water companies will be put at risk. It’s the last utility still in private hands. I don't think I need to emphasize that you will be on time, and prepared for your lesson_.”

“No,” they said. They stood on their tiptoes to get up in Damien's face, even though they could have just made themself taller. They said, “You think you’re so _tough_. Whatever. It’s pathetic, the way you puff out your chest and blow smoke at anything you feel threatens you. But I’m not your babysitter, and I’m definitely not the one who’s going to hold your hand and teach you about toxic masculinity and lack of self-esteem.” They started to turn away, their nose in the air.

Damien grabbed their wrist and yanked them back. It _hurt_.

He said, “You don’t seem to get how this works. I’m not giving you not a choice.”

Oz tried to get out of his grip. He only held them tighter, and they started tugging more frantically. Their feet slid on the linoleum towards him.

“Damien,” Vera said.

“Get your hands off them!” Amira said.

The lights in the hallway flickered and dimmed. Oz’s Form shifted—not enough to distend completely, but enough to be unsettling, their face blurring and skipping with every change in the light. They spoke both out loud and through telepathy. “ **Let go of me.** ” It echoed in seven different directions. An uneasy tension rose up off of the crowd; a few people fainted. Oz’s hair began to move without a breeze.

Damien let go. Oz felt his heart rate rising. They reached into his mind, and found a memory of nasal laughter; someone falling hard down an impossibly long staircase, their shoulders and head knocking against brimstone. “ _Take that, your Highness!_ ” They amplified it, and watched him wince. They stared straight into his eyes.

“ **Don’t _ever_ grab me like that again**,” they said. “ **Or you'll regret it**.”

Deep inside them, something took hold. A voice softly whispered to them from the depths of their Form. _He loves blood and violence, doesn’t he? Why don't you show him what that really looks like?_ It came to them like a whack to the side of their head, the same way as any other insane choice they'd been forced to make. _Rip out his throat in front of the whole school. It would certainly make a splash._ They could feel the warm satisfaction of his blood running down their throat. It was...erotic.

Their phobias looked at them strangely, whimpering.

 _Or, if you want something more CREATIVE_ , the voice whispered silkily, _Slit the throats of his little friends and let him take the fall for it. Your tear-jerking testimony at the trial will be the performance of the century._

 _What? I…I don't want to do that_ , they thought.

The voice replied: _I do_.

The hallway was still watching them. They could so easily rip out every single one of their throats. The hallway would be awash in blood. It would be warm and soft, like a blanket.

They looked at Damien. He was still trying to look condescending and tough. _Do it. Do it now._

They walked away.

Damien called after them. “Hey! W-where are _you_ going? Get back here, noob! I’m not finished with you!”

They focused all their energy on projecting calm superiority until they could reach the end of the hall and turn the corner. As soon as they did, they reached out to a shadow in the slat of a locker and slipped through it.

They travelled until they landed hard on their side in a soft patch of grass, their breath coming in deep gasps. They looked up. They were outside, under a dead tree.

The voice spoke to them again, light and airy. _What a wasted opportunity._ Another charge, like something crawling on their spinal cord, went down their back. They shuddered and collapsed onto their side. They felt an unbridled impulse to take this puny world, and bend it to their will. _No one will toy with you again._

“Are you okay?”

Oz turned their head.

It was Brian Yu. He was sitting against the tree's trunk, a cigarette in his hand. Then, he blurred. A wave of nausea passed through them, and they mashed their face into the dirt.

Brian asked, “Do you…need help or something?”

“Uh…just, don’t come any closer.” Their voice was scratchy, like it was trying to forcibly claw its way out of them.

Brian was planted firmly on the ground; he had a calm, collected presence, as hard as a rock. Oz used his solidity to reinforce their Form, starting with their feet and working their way up. The organs were always the worst—their Form did _not_ like being stuffed into such confining and fleshy parts at the best of times, and reinforcing their corporeality made Oz feel like they would yak all over the place. They pushed, re-solidifying their chest, throat, and head. There was one last flicker of a blood-red vision of death and destruction, but they grit their teeth and crushed it. Their pupils dilated, flashed, and then went back to normal.

They took a few more deep breaths. A breeze passed through the clearing, and they looked up at the velvety blues and sickly greens of a copse of storm clouds that were gathering overhead. The Surface was so beautiful. They sat up, still shaky. “I think I'll be okay,” they said.

“Cool,” Brian said. He took a drag, and blew out the smoke. Oz's nose wrinkled. They realized it was weed. “Did you take something weird?” he asked.

“No. Why?” they asked.

He said, “You appeared out nowhere through a giant silver gate forged with the echoes of thousands of screaming faces.”

Really? They looked around. The clearing was empty. It was almost idyllic, if not for the piles of empty beer and soda cans. Their vision blurred again. “I…I think I need to lie down for a while. Sorry.” They licked their dry lips. On their wrist, four fingerprints and a thumb glowed silver, smarting.

“You don't have to apologize,” he said. “It’s not like I own the place.”

Brian had a big, old boom box next to him. It was playing Q and the Banshees, the _Malmö Night_ album. “I love that band,” Oz said absently.

Brian suddenly looked a lot more interested. "Favorite song?" he asked.

“ _Highway Chorus_ ,” they said. He nodded. “That's a great one,” he said.

“Did you get home all right last night?” they asked.

A tired look crossed his face, and he shrugged. Then he smirked. “Owen paid for it this morning. I played bongos outside his bedroom door starting at 6AM, until he got up.”

“It must be cool, having a brother. I only have sisters,” they said.

“He is cool, when he’s got his head all in one place.” He huffed. “Yesterday? That was an example of Owen thinking through his dick. We were supposed to finish my supervised driving hours, so I can take my test. We’d been planning it for two weeks because for once my step-dank didn’t hog the car and Owen wasn’t working. Then Polly calls, and…” He flourished his hand. 

“What?” Oz sat up. “Oh my god, Brian!”

“It’s fine. It happens when he’s high on hot girls," he said.

They said, “No, you don’t understand. It’s all my fault! Amira asked Vicky to call Polly who asked Owen to drive us, because they wanted to help _me_ find new clothes. If I hadn’t—I should have just worn what I always do. It’s embarrassing, but it makes my parents happy, and then you would have—”

“Hey.” He smiled at them for the first time. They felt a core of psychic strength so strong, everything else in his mind was organized around it. It spoke of great fortitude. He said, “If Owen wanted to, we could have dropped you off and left. Hell, _I_ could have driven it as part of my hours. But Owen wanted to impress Polly, so he strangle-held me into switching off, and then decided to follow after her. It wasn't you.”

The bell rang for the next period to begin, so a crowd of people burst out of the school into the clearing, laughing, taking their drugs out of their backpacks. A minotaur was carrying a case of beer. He held up a hoof to Brian. Brian waved back.

A few of the monsters pointed at Oz and whispered to each other.

Brian asked, “You sticking around? We could listen to more Q.”

A massive, sound barrier-breaking _explosion_ ripped through the clearing, and atop the school, a miniature mushroom cloud bellowed up. Everyone turned to look. A few people snapped selfies with it, making funny faces. A guy with a guitar yelled, “Hey, man, you're harshing my vibe!”

As quick as anything, Brian _threw_ his boom box, and it knocked the guy out. The song changed to a pop number that was the big club anthem of the moment. Everyone laughed, and…started dancing?

Brian said, “I hate that guy. Party never starts until he leaves or shuts up.” He finished his blunt, and stubbed it into the ground. The minotaur shambled over to him. Brian slapped and gripped his open hand in greeting.

Oz's cell phone rang. “Hey,” Amira said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m all right. What was that explosion?” they asked.

“ _Revenge_. If LaVey thinks he can get handsy with one of _my_ friends, he's got another thing coming. Say goodbye to your mint-condition collection of Teeny Weenie Babies, asshole.” There was a jostling, and Vicky's voice cut in. “Oz? I stole Damien's phone and I’m hacking into it to order ice cream delivery on his credit card. Do you want anything special? You’re okay, right?”

They smiled. “Yeah. Thanks. Whatever you want is fine.”

“I’m definitely getting you a pint of the sea salt caramel heart attack. Raspberry sorbet for me, and mint chip for Amira. That's the first course, what else? Ooh, they have a special flavor today! Chocolate peanut butter with E-infused marshmallows! Ugh, why can’t they make any of the good flavors dairy-free?”

Amira took the phone back. “Seriously, where are you? Mr. Freezy will deliver pretty much anywhere. We'll sit tight for the rest of the day and chill.”

“Can I meet you in the bathrooms?” they asked. The volume on the music had been turned way up and it was giving them a headache. Plus, if Amira _really_ wanted revenge on Damien, all they would have to do was tell Mamimi what happened. He might never be able to shit on school grounds after that.

She paused. “Are you sure? We can be there in two.”

“I’ll be okay,” they said.

“Strong kid. I’m proud of you,” she said. “Take your time, but if you're not there in 10 minutes, I’ll activate the tracking device in that tie I gave you.” She hung up.

They smiled at Brian. “Do you want ice cream? Vicky’s ordering in, and I’m going to meet her and Amira in the bathrooms. You should come hang out with us.”

He shook his head. "I’m good here. Thanks, though."

“Well, if you change your mind, stop by,” they said.

From behind Brian, came the clink of ice in a glass. “Hey, Yu, pass me that beer! I’m making micheladas with the toxic hot sauce I nicked from Jo’s.”

Brian pulled Juan down by the waist into his lap, squeezing his thigh. “Hey half-pint,” he said.

“Fuck you,” Juan said, his eyes flirty, and nabbed the beer.

He did a double take and pulled down his black cat-eye sunglasses. They no longer had little plastic toys glued to each side. “Oz? Is that _you_?”

“Uh. Yeah,” they said. He looked them up and down, slowly. He looked different, too. He was _tall_. Well, actually, he was still pretty petite, maybe coming up to Oz’s chin, but considering how much smaller he’d been it was striking. He had thick black eyeliner and all-black clothes, cut with pink patent leather combat boots and a magician’s cape.

Juan and Oz blushed, and looked away from each other. “Good to see you,” Juan said.

“You too,” they said. They stood up. “L-later.”

Their phobias held back tears of laughter. As they left the clearing, they made kissy faces at Oz. One pretended to swoon into the arms of the other. Oz glared at them. “ _You guys are the fucking worst. I don't know why I hang out with you!_ ”

When they got to the bathrooms, there were 30 different tubs of ice cream piled on the counter. Wisps of dry ice clung to the containers. “Hey hey. Help yourself,” Amira said. She pointed a spoon at them. “Except I will cut you, if you try to take any of _my_ mint chip.”

“I would say I don't like mint and it’s not even a flavor suitable for consumption,” Oz said, “but I'm supposed to have of a sense of crushing competition between friends who would otherwise literally die for each other. So now it's my favorite, and I'll fight you.”

Vicky laughed. Amira's eyes shone as she grinned. She said, “That's my boi. With an I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter under 10,000 words! 
> 
> Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
> 
> ***
> 
> BIPOC and QBIPOC lives matter. I love you all.


	4. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I almost thought I would not make it. Happy Halloween.

Amira stretched her arms up over her head. "Ahhh. The freedom of a Thursday afternoon.” Vicky was staying behind to hang out with the folks in the auditorium, so Amira and Oz left school an hour early and walked all the way to the city center. Oz had finally relaxed around the idea of skipping if it was their last class of the day, which was gym.

The fallen leaves stuck to the sidewalks and gutters in wet clumps. The bookstores, bodegas, and barber shops of La Rosa started to turn into stealth emporiums and pawn shops. When she saw the first “lounge” with its windows outlined in purple neon, she took a deep breath. Her home away from home. 

Everyone said you could always tell when you'd entered the Murder District based on your glow-up. The last time the city had done municipal repairs of any kind, they had run out of normal yellow paint to mark off the no parking zones and hydrants, so they'd used a new-fangled invention of the time: glow-in-the-dark paint with large amounts of radium. It really made your cheekbones pop.

“What do you want to do?” Oz asked.

"You want to swing by that sacrifice that Mattie and Dix are putting on?" Amira asked.

Oz shrugged. "It seems kind of overdone to me? You know, there's only so many times that a person can get off on the pained screaming of human children."

"Really?" she said. "Always does it for me."

They said, "I need about seven layers of gaslighting to even interest me anymore.”

Amira had learned quickly, that while Oz may be lacking experience in certain areas of the usual high school student’s repertoire—sex, drugs, group torture—they had a number of _other_ talents.

She turned around to walk backwards on the sidewalk. Oz used their powers to get people coming the other way to move aside, so they wouldn't hit into her or try to stab her in the back. "Is it a lot harder to come up with stuff?"

"Not really," they said. "There's a lot that people don't realize they divulge about themselves.”

"…Give me an example," she said.

Oz looked around them on the street. They pointed to a goat man walking down the other side of the street. “What do you think is going with that guy?”

Amira looked him over. He seemed like the regular type you saw in the Murder District: leather pants and a work shirt, chain hanging from the belt. Probably the receptionist at one of the tat parlors. Someone who spent more time at gym than at home. “I don’t know. Meathead who can’t handle that there are many ways of being a badass, so he lashes out at anything that destabilizes his masculinity?” It seemed like every guy she’d met in the Murder District was like that. “Probably likes Motley Crue.”

“That’s really perceptive,” they said. “Look a little closer. Left arm.”

She took out her scopes. On his rippling left bicep, was a tattoo of an hourglass. In the sand was a line of text: _I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils._

She squinted. “Maybe, daddy issues?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” they said. “This is kind of unfair, because I’m using my Abilities, but you would be able to figure all this out by tailing him for a day or two. He has some deeply held issues around his father and their relationship. Parents divorced. He went to live with dad. His stepmother was always really supportive, but his father doesn’t approve of the rocker-wannabe lifestyle, and kid thinks he still blames him for the divorce somehow. Plus, our buddy and the stepmom have been getting into watercolor painting, and the dad feels left out.”

“So, what, you would…turn their watercolor lessons into a live-or-die game show? The surprise is, the dad’s the judge and has to make the ultimate decision of who lives and who dies. I’d watch it,” she said.

They said, “I would say, carve him a new girlfriend out of soap. Someone who’s _way_ too young for him, and looks a little like the stepmother. She gets a little too close to Daddy—asking his bowling league, going out drinking together, etc. When kid starts following them to make sure there’s nothing _going on_ , because of course he will, you send him a vision of them of her looking right at him, and then making obscene gestures towards his father while he’s waiting for his turn to bowl—or hire someone who looks similar, either way works. He confronts her, and she tells him he’s crazy and doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He can’t talk to his dad about it, because _that_ would be awkward. You pick and poke at him. Plant a few objects, get a few people to make a few remarks, but he can never actually catch her in anything.”

They said, “That can be stretched as long as you like, depending on how fragile his masculinity really is, but eventually he won’t be able to take it anymore. He comes home, sees her in the kitchen, and the next thing he knows she’s stabbing him in the neck because she can’t take his manipulation anymore.”

She threw back her head and laughed. "Oh my god! Yes!"

They said, “If you wanted to add a fun twist, you could set him up to have all-consuming sexual attraction towards his stepmother before he dies. It’s called the reverse Phaedra.”

She said, “I’m stealing that one from you, okay?”

She stopped. There, behind the bars of the front window of The Grieving Priestess, was a _beautiful_ poison-green, chrome-accented, leather-trimmed cafe racer. They both pressed their noses up to the glass.

"Oh my god," Oz said.

“I need it.” Amira said, “Come on.” She popped her jacket collar a bit, and pulled down her dress to show off a bit more of her cleavage.

The bell over the door jangled as they walked in, crossing between the two praying angel statues flanking either side of the door (old cemetery showroom models). The Grieving Priestess epitomized the beautiful insanity that was the Murder District: it had weird spooky knick-knacks; sex toys, lube, and erotica; and a large selection of sharp-edged weapons. They even offered regular BDSM community get-togethers. Their event last year focusing on navigating consent while the heisting the MPD's underground cold case lockers, had changed Amira's life.

Amira ran her finger along the tresses of a row of floggers. The display of three crystal balls turned from glistening grey, to a cloudy red.

One of the two angel statues turned to look at her.

" _Are you sure it's open?_ " Oz asked. They craned their neck to read the labels on the dried herbs that were hanging from the ceiling. " _It looks like no one's here_."

 _Sign said it was. Their loss if we steal their stuff_ , Amira thought back. A hand-drawn poster announced a new stock of knives, and she settled her eyes on a particularly beautiful one, its hilt forged to look like dragon scales, and a big red ruby at the end.

Two ice-cold hands settled on Amira's shoulders.

Amira grabbed the knife and twirled it in her hand, turning and raising it to stab. She smirked. "Hey, Dru."

Drusilla laughed. She jaunted over to the counter. "No touching the display models. What’s up?"

"Oh, you know," Amira said. She opened her mouth and started to point towards the bike.

"No," Drusilla said.

"I didn't even ask," Amira said.

Drusilla said, "You're number three hundred and sixty-two, just today.” She snorted. “As if you have the MONEY to buy it."

"You don't know," Amira said. Drusilla gave her a _look_ , and she said, "...Okay, fine. Can I still look?"

"Be my guest. If you stick around long enough, Nate will probably be back, and he'll talk your ear off about it. He's really excited," Drusilla said.

Amira drank in the bike’s beauty. She imagined herself, going full-speed across the Larry Talbot Memorial Bridge, wind in her hair, sexy-as-hell partner clinging to her back.

Drusilla said, "Something you might be able to afford is our October special. Two-for-one electrostimulation wands. Part of the proceeds go to fund the special effects for the Leather Queers' booth at the Hallows."

Amira looked at Oz over her shoulder. "You've been, right?"

"Oh, to the Halloween thing?" Oz said. "No. It's not really my thing. It's kind of annoying; people who have no idea what they're doing, suddenly think that they're God's gift to fear."

She said, "The Hallows isn't some lame-ass Halloween party. All of Monstropolis shows up. Last year, someone ate one of Vicky's fingers _in front of her_." 

"That's inconsiderate," Oz said.

"We're going to be there, so this year you gotta come," she said. She vaguely waved towards Drusilla. "Oh, Dru, this is my friend Oz. They/them pronouns," she said.

Oz asked, "Do you have any mirrorcress?"

Drusilla raised an eyebrow. " _Amira_. A friend who’s into potion making. Are you branching out?"

Amira noted, that there was no boot, and no chains holding down the bike's wheels.

She straightened up. "Hey, I don't interrogate people before becoming friends with them. Whatever kinky shit they're into is their own business," she said. She looked over her shoulder, caught Dru's eye, and mouthed: _single_. Drusilla's sightless stone pupils glimmered.

"How much do you want?" Drusilla leaned across the counter and said, "And may I ask what this is _for_? Not a common ingredient, to say the least."

"Oh…" They folded their arms elegantly behind their back. "Just some things," they said. "How much do you charge per gram?"

Their banter floated to the back of her mind as Amira put her hands on her hips. She gave a great sigh, shook her head longingly, and pretended to move on to another part of the shop.

She knew from many years of shopping at GP, that no matter how many times Dru told him it was a terrible idea, Nate still hid the keys to the store and other important items in a secret panel at the bottom of the box of vintage postcards. Amira leaned down and pretended to start rooting through the box of lesbian sex mags next to them. She drank in the cover of _Spook Babes_ until her nail found the catch in the wood.

"Cash only," Drusilla said. "Hence why Amira never actually buys anything here."

"What about barter?" Oz said. Drusilla started to laugh, but they opened their backpack, and took out a blue glass bottle with a handwritten label: _Potion of the Flesh_.

She looked up at them. “My. Someone _is_ into the kinky shit."

"You can have a sample," they said, fluttering their eyelashes. "After all, I don't trade without ensuring _quality_."

Feeling her hand around the compartment, past a few desiccated rats (someone's lunch, probably), Amira finally felt the ragged edge of a set of keys. She separated each one as she pulled them out, so they wouldn't make noise clicking against each other.

As she pulled them all the way out of the hole, she weighed her options. _Pocket this now and come back? Or try to get the bike out?_ Driving through the front window straight through a full set of metal bars, might leave her with some bad flesh wounds...but it would look _so cool_.

An iron grip closed around her upper arm. The stone of Drusilla's eyes crackled away, revealing two flicking human eyeballs. " _Rasheed_!"

"I wasn't doing anything!" she said.

The next thing she knew, she and Oz landed on the sidewalk outside with a thud, pushed forward by a roaring torrent of angry wind. The door slammed shut behind them, and the card flipped from OPEN to FUCK OFF.

"Sorry," Amira said. "I couldn't resist."

They helped her up, and she brushed herself off. "Uh, what did you think I was doing?" they asked. She blinked. They said, "Mirrorcress? Please. I have a whole patch cultivating in the lake at home. I don't know why it's become such a thing up here, but everyone's been talking about it like it's the next Autumn Skullcap, or something. Anyway, plan A was to slip a golem scroll into the Potion of the Flesh, which would have disintegrated her. If that didn't work, I figured I could eventually talk her into unlocking the gate for us to 'have a quick look'."

"You sneaky little…" She nudged them, and they shrugged. "Next time, say something. We can team up."

Oz looked down the street, and their body tightened. Liam and _Damien_ were heading towards them. Liam was wrapped in a chunky orange scarf, the ends tucked into his black wool jacket, a latte cup in hand. His cheeks were rosy from the cold.

Amira waved, and Liam nodded back. She'd gotten a few brownie points for distracting Coach enough in gym to let him stay on the bleachers, scoping out a new article on "10 new ways to make basic bitches cry about the empty consumerism inherent in their pumpkin spice lattes."

Of course, as soon as they were in firing range Damien opened his big mouth—but then he saw Oz. He drew back, pretending to look into the window of the shop next door. 

"Amira. You might know this," Liam said.

"What's up?" she asked.

"I'm in the market for a sickle," Liam said. "Preferably pure silver or an alloy."

Those were about a dime a dozen in the Murder District. She was going to ask him what size, when Damien said, "This is stupid! Just admit that you want to wear a…"

His entire face changed; it melted into a look of awe and wonder. He ran up to the window of the Grieving Priestess, and put both hands on the glass. "How much?" he asked. "Don't answer, I don't even care." He tried to open the door, but it was still locked.

A swamp creature padded up the street, whistling to himself. "Hey Amira," Nate said. He grabbed the door, and promptly face-planted into it. Oz caught him when he stumbled. He rubbed his forehead and looked at the sign. "Tried shoplifting again, huh?"

She scoffed. "Um, _no_. I don't know why you would think that."

Damien pointed at the bike. She and him asked at the same time, "How much?"

Nate hissed, and scratched the back of his head. "Ooh. Well. Dru has been on my back to set a price. We've had a lot of people come in…beautiful, isn't it? A 1963 Thunderbreaker." 

"How _much_?" Amira asked.

He looked at the bike. "3500 MONEY."

Her mouth fell open. "You don't sell anything above 50!" she said.

Nate said, "Hey, I bought it fair and square this time." He cut off Amira's _yeah right_ look by saying, "Where they got it _,_ is none of my business. Anyway, we have to at least turn a profit."

The door to the shop suddenly opened. Nate said, "Well, see yo—" He was sucked inside. The door slammed shut again, and the sign flipped: NO, I MEAN IT. YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES.

Damien slammed his fist into the front window, cracking it—unfortunately, not hard enough to break it and let Amira steal the bike. It did set off the anti-riot poison gas canisters, and they all had to split. "F-fuck this," Damien said, still coughing.

"Ooh." Amira put her fists on her hips. "You mean your _allowance_ won't quite cover it, LaVey?"

"Like yours does, Rasheed," Damien said.

"If they would take cards, that bike would already be mine," she said. 

They stared each other down, their faces sinking into snarls.

Damien said, "Talk all you want! It's not yours yet. Come on." He turned and sneered at them. "See you, losers. Get ready to eat my dust!"

Liam said, "I still need a sickle. I don't care about your petty—" Damien grabbed him by the seasonally-appropriate scarf and dragged him off.

She grabbed Oz by the shoulders. "We have to get that bike first. Imagine rolling up to the Hallows, riding _that_."

"Okay...how?" Oz asked.

Ahhh. Right.

She and Oz got the same maple brulee latte that Liam had been drinking, from The Happy Pussy's Cookie Cave, and sat on a bench by the river. Between the two of them, after paying for their lattes, they had three MONEY. "Maybe going for coffee first wasn't the smartest idea," Amira said.

They both took a sip. "Uh," Oz said. "I think you mean the best idea ever."

Amira had another long sip, and smacked her lips. "Ahhh. Oh man. That Happy Pussy's Cave is full of wonders. Now," she said, "We need 3500 smackers in--" She checked Oz's watch. "Two weeks. What are our options?"

Oz thought it over. "We could sell some of my mirrorcress and other things? The market value for Shadow-grown botanicals has really gone up, with the hype about it being 'more sustainable'."

"How much?" she asked.

"70 MONEY a pound." They scratched the back of their head. "But I can only grow maybe a pound at a time. It endlessly refracts if there's too much light, so if I try to expand into too big a cultivation area it will take over the entire water source and choke out everything else."

"We need something with faster turnover anyway," Amira said.

They sat quietly, drinking their lattes, thinking.

While Amira was typing out a few preliminary ideas on her phone, she got a text from Vicky. _Plans for this weekend?_

Amira gave Oz a quick glance, and chased it with some latte. They would have to set it up in STATSWhore, if they were going to cash in together. _Maybe…I should call Vicky instead._ They’d worked together so many times, that Amira felt a lot more confident that Vicky could swoop in at the last moment and save the day.

A behemoth in a tweed suit with a tiny dog in her purse walked by. Amira made a face. _Come on. Can you get any tackier?_ She went by them, but before she was fully gone, she stopped. She looked into the bag, as if searching for something.

She reached in and took out the dog. “You… weren’t that small before.”

The dog blinked at her.

“Were you that small before?”

It snuffled.

She stood there, unable to move. Her mouth started slowly falling open. For a split second, Oz’s pupils went wide.

They had a sip of their latte. The woman stuffed the dog in her bag and hurried on, silently crying.

Amira watched this. She started grinning.

Oz did a double take when they noticed her expression. "What?" they asked.

* * *

On Saturday, they met at the head a trail leading into the woods outside of town, wrapped up in warm coats and hiking boots. "You head in," Amira said. "I'll meet everyone here and send them on." Oz's phobias zipped off. Oz pulled a knit hood up over their head, and disappeared into the forest.

On the grass on the side of the road, Amira set out an A-frame sign.

_Flowing Rivers Wellness Retreat_

_Welcome, seekers!_

Then she spent some time clearing the trailhead of a big stick that had fallen across the entrance. As she finally lifted it free of the dead leaves and chucked it aside, it hit against a tree trunk, sending something flying to her feet. It was a small wooden sign.

_Death's Head Trail: CONDEMNED_

She chucked it into the woods.

Ten minutes later, the first SELTA model X pulled up.

A harried-looking Gnoll with a pair of wireless earbuds in his ears got out of the passenger seat. As he retrieved a suitcase from the trunk, he said, "Yeah, Aakk, I hear you. An open-concept workspace is definitely something we'll look into, but, you know, considering we work in a mud swamp, I don't see how much more open-concept we can get."

Amira waved hello. The car pulled back towards the road. "Look, I gotta go. I'm at that thing that Lu booked for me for the weekend. Yeah, mindfulness thing. Deep breathing and self-awareness and shit. I've never thought much of it, but she swears by it. I'll be away from the phone for a couple days, so if Uzz calls, send him to Ghik. Uh huh. See you." From his pocket, he took out a phone, and tapped on the screen.

"Hi," Amira said. "Welcome to Flowing Rivers. My name's Asiya, she/her pronouns."

"You work for the retreat?" he asked. "Seriously?"

"I'm the lead facilitator," she said. 

He said, "You look like some random high school kid."

She smiled cheerfully. _God, dude, shut up_. She said, "That's because I've been through the retreat so many times! If you really put in the effort and apply the techniques, it totally re-awakens your youthful energy. I was the CFO for a Misfortune 500 company before I left to take this job."

He looked decidedly more interested after that. "Name?" she asked, holding up a clipboard.

"Grez Bloodfoot."

She checked the list. _Grez Bloodfoot--CEO of Bloodfoot Consulting. Providing clan-based management to Zulkirs seeking to better utilize and control their savage hoards._ **_Salary: 2 million MONEY per year._**

She grinned even wider. "There you are. Your journey towards re-connecting with your deepest self starts now! A leisurely walk to our fully-equipped cabin facility quiets the mind and opens you up to new experiences. As you go, really take the time to feel yourself in your body. Bringing ourselves back to fully engaging with the world around us through all the senses will be a major component of the first day of exercises."

He took a step towards the path. She stopped him. "Before that. We do have one rule." She took out a plastic snap-top bin. "No electronics. Phones, laptops, tablets. Skin-embedded tracking chips. A total disconnect from the outside world is essential to turn inward."

As he disappeared into the woods, the next car pulled up.

Amira walked with the last guest (Juukti "Rose" Baalan, Conquerer of the Sixth World—salary 4,500,000 per year) to the cabin, a graceful three-story getaway, with big picture windows on every side, looking out onto dense and misty groves of pines. Everyone had already helped themselves to the organic snacks and the pitchers of cucumber-melon water.

Amira clapped her hands twice. The noise in the room died down. She said, ""Welcome! I hope you've all had a chance to chat and get to know each other. But now the real work begins."

She hit play on the stereo sound system. A sakya went _ding!_ , followed by the sound of a bubbling brook.

"We're all worn out by society. We ask so much of ourselves, yet give back so little to our bodies and souls in return. This weekend is an opportunity, to step beyond the roles that you and society assign to you. Boss. Employee. Parent. Lover. To leave them behind, and entirely inhabit yourself as _you_. The you you always imagined yourself to be." She smiled serenely. "To get started, we're going to do a simple visualization exercise."

Everyone sat down on one of the yoga mats on the floor. "Close your eyes. Everyone breathe in through the nose for five seconds; hold it for five seconds; then release through the mouth," Amira said. They all went through a couple turns of that. She said, "Now. Scan your body down. Bring yourself back to your body. Notice the sensation in each part of you; feet; legs; stomach; chest; head. When you meet resistance, and you will meet resistance, don't fight it. Don't scold yourself or try to empty your mind. We meet these obstacles because they matter deeply to us. Ask yourself, what is causing this resistance? What conflict is there between who I am, and who I want to be? Visualize each aspect with detail and clarity." Her eyes snapped open, flicking back and forth. She saw a few people hastily shut theirs. "I mean, really. _Visualize_ it."

She led them through another deep breathing exercise, and then a personal reflection, before they broke for lunch out on the patio.

Amira checked in with everyone individually. The Gnoll dude was looking around, looking confused. "Taking it all in? I know, it's a lot." she said. "Another cookie?" She held out a little wax paper bag.

"Where did Rose go?" Grez asked.

"Who?" Amira asked.

He said, "That woman. The one with a black hole grafted onto her shoulder."

Amira thought it over, then shook her head. "I don't recall."

"We exchanged business cards," Grez said. He reached into his wallet, but...the card was gone?

"Let me get you some more water," Amira said. "For people going through the course for the first time, sometimes things get fuzzy. This is good! It means you're ready to really delve into your layers."

In the afternoon, they worked on further clarifying the revelations they'd made in the morning sessions, and formulating the groundwork of an action plan for meaningful change. "You have the power to realize the self you've always wanted to be. It's within you," Amira said.

"This is so relaxing," Grine said.

Once the afternoon session had broken up & dinner had been served (a beet & goat cheese salad, butternut squash soup, and date-nut bread, with fresh fruit pavlova for dessert) Grine Gwinnet (Fishkill Land Trust, 3.5M a year), Demi (Throat-Tearer Industries, 600,000 a year), and Guayota (Black Howl Wealth Management, 954,000 a year) lounged around in the main room together. Grine had kept some of the cucumbers from her salad, and they all had the slices on their eyes.

Demi said, "I can't remember the last time I had this much mental space just to _think_. I can't believe I gave myself such a hard time before I signed up."

"Same," Grine said. "I wouldn't have, but we just closed on a two million-acre deal and I was burnt _out_. My husband was like, go somewhere, relax and untangle your vines, or you're going to drive me crazy."

"Ooh," Guayota said. She nudged Grine. "Two million-acre deal?"

Grine smirked. "We did a quick flip. A site for a new development. It was land that was slated to become a nature preserve—as if we don't have enough of _those_." She took off her cucumbers and leaned back on a statue of a deer prancing up to a lake. The water had been rendered in clear acrylic. When she touched it, it turned dark and rancid.

Guayota reached into her LaLaOrange yoga pants and pulled out a card. "If you're looking for a place to _safely store_ anything, look me up. We're off-shore."

"Hey girls," Amira said. She had a tray of drinks with little umbrellas in them.

"Asiya!" They helped themselves to the drinks, sipping and making exaggerated “mmmm!” sounds.

Somehow, the business card appeared in Amira's hand. She crumpled it. "Now now now, I know the pull to network is strong. I've been in your shoes. But do you really want to make this weekend about work? It needs to be about _you_ ," she said.

"You're right," Grine said. "I _always_ put the work first. Never mind that our holdings have expanded at least 10 times over the past ten years. It's not enough!"

"It's never enough," Demi said. "No matter how much work I put into expanding our base clientele, my sisters are never pleased. It's like they think it just _happens_. If I try to explain that re-working the fabric of people's fates to doom them to service in our army of slaves is a complex process that defies the laws of nature, it's always, 'here's Demi with the drama again.'"

"Not to mention the kids," Guayota said. "Do they ever see you as a person? No."

Amira nodded. She snapped her fingers. "I think I know just the thing. The best part is, it's great group bonding activity. We have a full steam sauna out back. Nothing encourages a cleansing of body and mind quite like sweating!"

Grine looked at Demi and Guayota. "You up for it?"

"…All right," Demi said.

"If it's just us girls," Guayota said.

"Excellent," Amira said.

She led the way.

* * *

"Tell me."

"No."

"Come on!"

"No."

"Just one thing."

"For the last time..."

Jason Moires (1.7 M a year) and Balthor (1.7M a year), co-founders of a hot new start-up Revolver jaunted down the hiking trail just down the path from the cabin.

Jason looked like a corn-fed baseball star in his prime: chiseled face, light shadow, and hair just long enough to not be too conventional. "Look," he said. "Just because we're practicing self-awareness, doesn't mean you have to be _aware_ of everything that I’m thinking. We're different people. So, stay out of my meditation, okay?"

Jason's head flipped around. A perpetually grimacing, bright blue face with horns looked over its shoulder. "This is supposed to be a bonding experience, Jason. We're in this business together!"

The head flipped again. "Believe me, I know. What I'm saying is, there are things about my life and my future that I don't necessarily want your opinion about.”

It flipped again. "Is this about you and David?"

Again. "No! See, this is why I don't talk about personal stuff with you, in the office or otherwise. Every time I do, you turn all of our problems into some manifestation of my so-called emotional constipa--"

"OH MY GOD! Spider, spider!"

The head flipped again. Jason sighed, and looked all around the path. "I don't see anything."

Again. "It was _huge_. Like, the size of a dog!"

Again. Jason chuckled. "Uh, we're in the woods." The forest around him was silent. He said, "Maybe you shouldn't have picked a retreat in the middle of the woods, if you're scared of spiders."

Again. "Oh my god," Balthor said. "This is just like you. You never want to engage in any conversation that would make you vulnerable. No wonder David thinks you're not serious about your relationship! How is anyone supposed to sustain a meaningful relationship based in communication when you act like this?"

Silence.

Balthor looked left, then right. "Jason?" He sighed. " _Okay_ , I'm _sorry_. I'll stop _prying_ into your life."

Something rustled. Balthor turned. "Jason?" Balthor scanned the trees. "This isn't funny. Come on!"

Something _wet_ touched Balthor's leg. "Wh—"

It pulled Balthor under.

* * *

Grez Bloodfoot padded down the grand staircase towards the main room.

He was starting to get a little stir-crazy. With no laptop and no phone, he couldn't check on how Uzz and the crew were doing. The only books in the place were hippy-dippy self-help stuff on "aligning your chakras."

He hadn't seen another person since dinner, and it was freaking him out.

 _You're always so wound up,_ Lu told him. _You need this. All the stress is going to give you a heart attack._

His ear swiveled towards a noise. Asiya was marking off something on a clipboard. He tried to duck behind a beam before she saw him.

"Hey there!"

 _Fuck_. "...hey." He came down the stairs and looked around. "Where is everyone?"

Amira said, "A couple people went out for a hike. Some people are journalling. The rest are in the spa taking a moment for themselves." She hoped down off the platform where she led the exercises. "Can I get you something?"

"No," Grez said.

"You sure?" She advanced. "A hot towel? Some fruit?"

"I said I'm fine!" he said. She stopped where she was. She never stopped smiling. He backed towards the staircase, eyeing her. "I...think I might journal, too. That sounds like it would help."

"Great!" Amira reached into one of the side tables, and pulled out a little bound book. "Here you go. We provide journaling supplies, since it's such a helpful tool for our guests. Wanna pick your favorite color of pen?"

They were all feather quills of unknown species, which gave off a strange glow. The little blank journal seemed to pulse in correspondence.

"Uh..." he said. "I have my own pen."

He went back to his room. As soon as he closed the door, he froze, and listened.

Nothing.

He went to his hand-sewn troll-made duffle (a birthday present from Lu) and took out the extra burner phone he carried with him.

He got Lu's voicemail. "Hey, it's me. I think I might leave this thing early. The woman who runs this place seems off her rocker. I know I said I would give it a shot, but...something weird is going on."

Three knocks came at the door. "I gotta go," he whispered. "I love you." He ended the call and hid the phone well.

Grez opened the door, but only a crack. A guy was there, in a lavender uniform, holding a tray. "Hi."

"Uh." He opened the door. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm retreat staff. I help wherever she needs an extra hand." They held out the tray. "I'm bringing around tea to all the guests. The first day can be really challenging, so we try to make sure everyone has what they need to process."

"I don't know if I'd say challenging." He hesitated, then he let them into the room. Oz set the tray down on the coffee table. They poured tea into two rustic ceramic mugs.

"You're struggling with the exercises," they said.

He looked a little guilty. "I just can't get into this shit...I mean, into things like this. My mind's too logical. Logistics is my business, so." He looked at them. "You've done the whole course?"

"Oh yes," Oz said. "It does take a leap of faith. You have to be willing to open yourself to the experience. But...if you think about it from a logical perspective, what you're doing is really looking objectively at how you approach life. Looking at yourself as if the outside, and questioning why you act as you do."

He let out a breath, and reached for one of the cups of tea. "I hadn't thought of it like that."

"Of course, you don't have to share anything you don't want to, but, if you need an ear, I'm here to listen," they said.

He took a sip of tea. "To be honest, I almost didn't go to this thing. My secretary and my partner schemed together to sign me up. I think most of the mindfulness stuff is kind of bullshit." He sighed. "But...I do need to re-think my life."

Oz sat there, patiently waiting.

He shrugged. "The world's going to hell. We're destroying the atmosphere, and kids are starving while people throw out perfectly good food. Most of my colleagues are like, it's not our problem. Or, might as well have some fun before the end of the world."

"We are facing an unprecedented crisis," Oz said.

He drained the rest of his mug and put it down.

"It's not like it's my fault, that the world's a dumpster fire. But..." With the free hand, he put a paw pad through the ring on a cord around his neck. "My girl, Lucy, is ready for kids. We're all right, sure, but, what would I be bringing them into? I think I need to contribute something...more."

Oz said, "That's so beautiful." They sat a little further forward on the edge of the sofa, and clasped their hands in their lap. "You know, if you really give the weekend a fair shot, I think you'll get a lot out of it. Maybe you don't connect with your chakras." They gave a flippant little shrug, and he snorted. "But...it can't hurt to try, right?" they said.

"Yeah," he said. He cleared his throat a bit, and pulled at his necklace. "I...I feel kind of...weird. Do you feel that?"

"Oh...the fireplaces can be very powerful," Oz said. 

Grez swooned a bit.

"This tea is wonderful, isn't it?" they said. "It's so relaxing."

As he fell off the sofa onto the floor, he reached for them. They pulled their legs up onto the sofa, tucking them under themself.

Finally, he stopped moving. His eyes were still wide open, flicking about.

"You know," they said, "I really think you have contributed something meaningful to society. I don't often get to test the poisons I read about. What could be a more noble cause, than supporting education through hands-on learning?" They took out a hypodermic needle. "I was really intrigued by this one. Deadly Nightshade gets all the hype, but Rosary Pea is actually much more lethal. It only takes three micrograms to kill an adult."

They kneeled next to him. "I would say 'hold still,' but, that seems kind of tedious."

* * *

When Amira finished burying the last body, she took a shower, using the coals in one of the rooms' fireplaces to wash her hair. She wrapped herself up in a terrycloth robe and padded to the second-floor lounge. 

Oz was also in a robe, but still had their clothes on underneath. They were sitting upside down on the huge leather sectional. Their hair twisted and writhed freely.

She snorted. "You look like you just had sex."

"This is better than sex," Oz said. 

"Well, don't knock it 'til you try it," she said. She went over to the fridge, pulled two bottles of beer. She flopped down next to them and handed them one. 

"How much did we make?" they asked. They flipped themself upright to drink their beer.

She grinned. "Between the fee for the course, and what I was able to loot from their stuff? A cool 5000."

"That's way more than we need!" they said.

"We'll have extra for a new paint job, and a team of buff male cheerleaders to rub it in LaVey's face," she said. Maybe she could convince Scott to join in? "I'm thinking candy apple red." She sipped her beer and swirled it in her mouth. "Or maybe chili pepper? What do you think? What would give me the best look as I jet from the beach to the club?" 

They said, "I think either would be great."

For a minute, they just soaked it all in, staring out at the mists in the pines. This place really was a balm for the mind. Oz said, "Wasn't it convenient that we found this place out in the middle of nowhere?"

She said, "I know! Can you imagine trying to pull this off if you actually had to rent a space, and buy food and shit?"

"AaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" The head of an axe embedded itself in the couch right between them. They both scrambled out of the way.

Oz grew six tentacles, two extra mouths, and _roared_. The guy still came after them, raising an axe to strike.

In a burst of adrenaline that was maybe brave, and probably idiotic, just before he drove the axe into one of Oz's tentacles Amira grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him back. "Whoa whoa whoa, there, buddy, let's talk about this!" He turned and raised the axe at her.

She wrinkled her nose. "Psychotic Dave?"

A big smile split Dave's face. "Amira!" he said. He threw his arms open. The axe spun through the air. It decapitated the statue of the deer prancing before embedding in one of the beams of the wall.

" _You know this guy?_ " Oz said.

 _Well. Polly knows him,_ she thought. She asked Dave, "What are you doing here?"

He said, "New digs! You like?"

A sense of unease came over her. She pointed at the floor. "This is your house."

He nodded. "Uh huh."

"...What happened to your shanty by the dump?" she asked.

"Wanted more laboratory space. Got some great new stuff in the works! Big expansion!" he said.

He looked around. Pairs of shoes from the attendants were still scattered in a pile near the stacked yoga mats.

"You…used my stuff," Dave said. His eyes landed on the two beers, glugging all over the carpet. "You drank my booze."

She held up her hands. "Dave, man, I swear, we didn't know anyone lived here. I scoped out the place for almost a week. We thought it was abandoned!"

"We promise," Oz said. "We're really sorry."

Dave stared at them for a minute. Then, he snapped his finger. "Tell you what. Buy some stuff, and I won't call the cops! Or...do anything else."

His left eye twitched. He grinned a little wider. The pus leaking from his gums showed.

* * *

They took the plastic tub of wiped electronics, and the drugs they'd been forced to buy, to Corbyn's Variety Store & Pawn Shop. After that, they had 250 MONEY.

"What a cheapskate. I'm never going in there again," Amira said, bursting out of the shop's door.

"I've never held this much MONEY in my life," Oz said, staring down at it with wide, shining eyes. Amira took the bills and stuffed them in her bra before anyone on the street could get any ideas.

They decided to pop over to the Grieving Priestess for one quick look.

Damien was there, looking at the bike.

“Ugh,” Amira said.

“Hey Rasheed,” he said.

“What are _you_ doing here?” she asked. 

“Looking my bike,” he said.

“Real cute,” she said.

"I’m serious,” he said.” He nodded at it. “I worked out a deal with my dads. If I take care of all the idiot humans who mess with a Ouija board in the month of October and somehow end up dialing their private number, they'll get me my ride."

His cell phone rang. He grinned, his eyes turning a misty gold, and answered it. "Zaza. Hell. Your sister is fucking your crush in the ass!" That last one took a while, but over the phone, someone screamed. Damien cackled. He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket.

Amira almost blew her top. That was a fun Tuesday night, not work! And he got a motorcycle in exchange?!?

Damien grinned at her. "See you, Rasheed." He raised his sunglasses. "Or probably not. I'll be going too fast on my new bike."

When he turned around, a soaking wet, eyeless child was staring at him. He jumped.

“Why?” it asked.

“What the fuck,” Damien said.

“Why did you do it?”

The air hung heavy. “How the fuck should I know?” Damien asked. “I don’t know you!”

The child stared up at him, still dripping. “I miss you.”

They stared at each other. It didn’t say anymore. Damien got more and more agitated, but the longer their eyes met, the more he tried to stuff it down and look normal.

Finally, he left, walking backwards so that he could keep his eye on the kid. It didn’t move, or turn to watch Damien go.

When he was finally gone, Amira cracked up. “Nice one, dude.” 

The kid smiled at her. Oz said, “I’ll always have your back.”

They fist-bumped.

* * *

Amira could not believe what she was about to do.

 _Just...swallow your pride. It might work_.

"Amira?" Papa and Masozi were at the dining room table, working on her science homework together. They were looking at her.

"I'm fine," she said. _Just do it. Take a deep breath and do it._

Amira walked into the kitchen. She hopped up onto the counter, and wove her fingers together in her lap. "Can I apply for a small, low-interest loan?" she asked.

Aisha was spreading hummus onto rounds of toasted bread. She and her friends from volunteering were getting together and it was her turn to host. "That depends," she said. "How _small_ of a loan are we talking?"

"It's really not that much."

Aisha narrowed her eyes. "All right."

"Think of it as an investment," Amira said.

"You still haven't answered my question," Aisha said.

Amira swung her legs back and forth, careful not to hit them into her mom's cabinets. "You know...just...3250 MONEY."

Aisha almost dropped her knife. Amira said quickly, "Plus tax. You set the interest rate, I'll pay it back, I promise!"

Aisha barked a laugh. "You would have to go without allowance until after you graduate college. You're not using the MONEY your father and I give you to pay back what I loan you. That's not a loan, it's a gift."

"Mom," Amira said.

Aisha put down the knife, and put her hands on her hips. "Do you know how much that is? That's a month's mortgage on this house, or an entire class in graduate school."

"You paid off the mortgage two years ago," Amira said.

"What could you possibly need that kind of MONEY for?" Aisha asked.

_Don't tell her it's for a motorcycle. Don't tell her it's for a motorcycle._

“A…unique opportunity to expand our family's financial portfolio," Amira said.

Aisha sighed. She opened a jar of roasted red peppers to slice into toppings. "First rule of business: always be upfront." 

"It is!"

“You know,” Aisha said. “I’ve said before. If you need MONEY, the fastest way? Is to make it yourself.”

Amira rolled her eyes. _Well, gee, Mom. If only I’d thought of that!_

Aisha said, “I’m not talking about those hair-brained schemes that you and Vicky concoct when you’re skipping class. I mean a real business. One with a dependable product or service that you can offer to customers.”

“Can we make an appointment at a later time for the sage life advice?” Amira asked. “Why do you always have to drag me down with your _one_ definition of how someone should make MONEY?"

"What other hope do I have? You won't focus on your schoolwork, no matter what we say," Aisha said.

Her dad poked his head in the door, clearing his throat. His forehead wrinkled, and he sighed. "A car just pulled up," he said.

Amira pushed her butt to the edge of the counter. She snatched a hummus crostino and shoved it in her mouth. “Wait,” her mom said. “I’ll give you the MONEY.”

Amira almost shit herself. Aisha raised-one olive oil-slick finger. “If, you start attending mosque again.”

A moment of silence.

Amira hopped down off the counter. Aisha said, "All right. Whatever it actually is, I hope it's not time sensitive." She smiled at her. "And I suggest you start saving your allowance."

* * *

The next weekend, Oz sent her an address by text. Amira texted back: _Are you laughing at me? You know I don't have a car. Also, what the fuck are we doing?_ She'd promised they could take point on their second attempt, because the wellness retreat had been her idea.

 _City bus route 9. Izzy will drop you off where he left me,_ Oz texted back.

The bus pulled right up to their house. Masozi came to the window and looked out the curtain. "How do you manage to get a city bus driver to come _to our house_?"

Amira ruffled her hair. Masozi tried to smack her hand away, but she wasn’t fast enough. "When you're my age, you might be as cool as me, and then I'll tell you."

A young ( _cute_ ) guy with some magnificent dreads slid open the doors. "Amira?"

"I didn't know anyone under 50 was a city bus driver," she said. Maybe she could get behind public transit, if she could have her own private bus.

"Pilot program," he said. "Also, did you know, that anyone who shoots a city bus driver on or off duty instantly disintegrates, and all their family's MONEY and possessions go to the victim?"

"Seriously?" she said.

"We have a good union," he said.

The drive was long and winding, taking them out of Monstropolis towards the mountains. He pulled the bus off at a large, gilded sign at the bottom of a hill. Up on the mountainside, Amira could see a palatial white building with black and gold accents, and only a few cracked windows. _Helalia Hospital._

"This is where Oz got off," Izzy said.

"...Really?"

He nodded. He scratched his five o'clock shadow, and his face-tentacles wriggled. "They also left this for you," he said, and handed her a brown paper shopping bag. It had a white lab coat, an ID badge, and a fabulous looking pant suit with some alligator high heels. _At least they have my style nailed down._

She came up to the hospital’s front doors in her new digs. There was only one door in, and one door out.

As soon as she walked in _that smell_ hit her—the stale, slightly sour smell that inhabited every dentist’s and doctor’s office in the universe. Some mix of stewing body odors, overlaid with floor cleaner and misplaced hope. The walls, floors, and ceiling were so stark white, it hurt her eyes. A thin gold band ran along the middle of each wall, but that was it.

There were only one or two people in the lobby: the person at the front desk (impeccably dressed for someone who probably only made minimum wage) and one woman with a tall blond beehive. She had on a pink silk robe and slippers, and her hands were folded in her lap, one diamond ring on each hand. She seemed to be looking at nothing. Amira watched her for a few seconds, waiting for her to blink. Or breathe. Neither seemed to be coming any time soon.

_Ah, fuck._

Someone touched her shoulder.

She almost stabbed before she looked. It was Oz, wearing a white coat. "Don't _do_ that!" she hissed, smacking them.

"Sorry. It's hard for me to keep a low profile here, with all the lights," they said. "This way."

"I didn't even know there was a hospital out here," she said. She tried to keep her eyes on the floor.

"It's the private one," Oz said. "They use a masking spell to hide it from anyone who makes less than 500,000 a year."

Amira had started to say something, but she lost the words. 

After what felt like centuries, they came to the end of the hallway. Oz pushed the button for the elevators.

“So, what exactly is this plan?” she whispered.

They handed her a clipboard with their notes and a medical chart. They said, “It’ll be no time at all. I already had them sign a contract a few days ago.” They handed her another purple folder with the hospital’s name embossed in gold. Her eyes boggled when she saw the number.

Clearly this Oz’s CREATIVITY at its best.

She looked up, and jumped.

A nurse was standing three feet behind them, staring. Her nose and mouth were working into a sneer. Oz straightened, and said in the most self-righteous, snobby, _cold_ voice: “Can I _help_ you?”

After another minute of staring, she backed off.

Never in her life did Amira expect a voice like that to be capable of emerging from sweet, sweet Oz. She waited until the elevator doors were closed. “What was that?”

“It was good?” They giggled. “I’ve been practicing that one for a while,” they said.

The elevator doors opened a few floors up. The halls looked exactly the same, with the exact same number of doors. Amira looked at each one, trying to tell the difference between any of them, but there wasn’t any. The quiet hung in the air from the dotted ceiling tiles. 

The elevator almost closed on her, and Oz had to run to catch them. “Are you okay?” they asked.

“Uh…yeah,” she said. “Where is everyone?”

“This floor is restricted access, even for building staff. These are the deluxe private rooms. No one without a patient is allowed,” Oz whispered. They went over to the one dip in that endless hallway—the nurse’s station. Oz went back into the back.

Amira peered behind the initial desk, which was empty. She shivered, and realized she’d stepped right under a vent. The air coming from it was glacial. 

Her eyes landed on the back wall of the station, which was entirely heart monitors and security cameras. There were so many of them, all flashing. She got lost as she she stared.

It seemed like they started to…sync up with each other.

The walls blurred into the background, and they weren’t stark white anymore, but cracked and gray with green speckles. The shadow of a voice drifted into one ear. _“He’s…difficult to say…ultimately depends on the will to live…_ ” 

She blinked. They were all back to normal.

Her throat felt dry. _It’s…it’s okay. Think about the bike. It’ll all be worth it once you have the bike._

Oz came back with a laptop. “Everything is good to go. Are you ready?”

She glanced back at the heart monitors briefly. “…Yeah. Let’s do this,” she said. 

Oz led her to one of the doors, knocked twice, and tapped a keycard.

A ghoul woman was in the bed, which was not a hospital bed—it was a four-poster, nicer than any Amira had ever seen, even in her mom’s design magazines. It was all she could do to stop herself from staring slack-jawed at the rest of the “hospital room.” There was a jacuzzi tub in the corner. A full bar stood right next to it. 

“Good morning, Mrs. and Mr. Everhart,” Oz said. “How are you feeling this morning?”

The man said, “We’re good, Doctor. Excited!”

“Me too! It’s the big day.” They gestured to Amira. “This is my colleague Dr. Ashura. She’s the one I mentioned in our last appointment.”

The man shook her hand very sincerely. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “Really.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she said, giving him a big smile.

“We should be right on time to get started. Do you have any concerns since we last met?” Oz asked.

“No,” the husband said.

The woman suddenly turned to them. “Are you sure this will work?” She sat up and snarled. "I'm paying you so that this _works_!"

The husband said, “Honey—”

“ _Shut up Greg!_ ” she said. She put her hand on her impossibly thin, hot yoga-toned stomach. “I’m having my baby. And if not, someone _else_ is going to pay.”

Amira already wanted to slap her, but Oz sat down in the chair next to her bed. “Julia, I know this has been hard for you. Infertility is a huge struggle. I know this must be so stressful.”

She fell back further into the pillows, suddenly looking exhausted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really sleep last night…we’ve been through this so many times.” Oz nodded. She wiped at her eyes, which were giving off a red mist. She said, “It’s so cruel, that I can’t get pregnant, just because I almost lack a physical form! The keyword is _almost_! I mean, isn’t science supposed to have gotten us past this already?” She blinked her wet eyes.

“I know. I hear you,” they said. “That’s why I wanted to take the extra time, to allow Dr. Ashura to be here today. She’s the expert on gaseous complications, and she’ll be able to guide you through the absorption.”

Amira said, “They’re right. You’re not alone, and we’re going to do everything we can.”

They stood back up. “If you’re ready, we’ll start preparing.”

Amira looked at the door back into the hall. She got goosebumps, remembering the freezing air.

As soon as Oz closed the velvet curtain between the patient bay and the rest of the room, Amira grabbed their hand and pulled them into the full-sized bathroom just before the door.

“Huh? What’s up?” they asked.

She sat down on the fuzzy toilet seat cover. "What's wrong?" they asked. She was still gripping their hand for dear life. “Amira, are you okay?” Oz asked, kneeling on their knees in front of her. 

She nodded, then shook her head. “I can’t go back out there.”

Oz blinked. "Why not?"

“I…I'm scared of hospitals, okay? They freak me out,” she said. “I thought I could handle it, but…”

They said, "Oh…oh _god_. Amira, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I mean, I could tell you were really wound up, but I didn't want to make assumptions or intrude on your privacy."

She asked, “How much longer will the rest of all this take?"

Oz took a vial out of their labcoat. It looked like it was full of ink. “All we have to do, is have her drink this, and then pretend to go through the procedure while I…well, it’s hard to explain. We’ll be in here the whole time and it’ll only be maybe half an hour?” They thought for a moment. “We do have to walk them out,” Oz said. “That might take fifteen or thirty minutes, depending on how much they want to talk.”

Her foot started jiggling. They asked, "Do you want to go?"

She thought of that number on that contract. Her beautiful, _beautiful_ motorcycle.

She thought of the hallway just beyond this room.

"...Can we?" she asked.

Oz took out their phone. "I'll call Izzy right now," they said.

He dropped them off in the municipal bus parking lot. It was totally deserted. They sat on the ground, back to back. “I’m really sorry, Amira,” Oz said.

“It’s okay. Really,” she said. Now that she was in a creepy empty parking lot that was totally devoid of any signs of life, with a slightly dank fog rolling in, she felt much better. “It was an amazing plan. I’m sorry that I messed it up.” 

“You’re more important than a plan,” Oz said. They thought for a moment. “Maybe we can try to find something else? There’s still time before the Hallows. She stared off into the endless sea of asphalt, minutely shaking her head.

She almost wished that Damien, or some other person from school would just _descend_ and present her with something. It was a hell of a lot easier than coming up with her own ideas.

_That's always the problem, isn't it? Not CREATIVE enough. Not SMART enough._

She said, “It’s weird. Usually these things just happen, you know?” she said. She turned to look at Oz. They were gone. 

She looked around. "Oz?"

" _Someone's coming,_ " they whispered. Amira got to her feet. The fog rolled in faster, giving her some cover.

She could hear a pair of high heels approaching. Amira reached into her jacket and pulled her favorite shiv. She rested her thumb on the star ruby at the end. 

From the fog, emerged the flick of a red dress, and then: a woman. Caramel skin, and long, flowing black hair with a bit of texture, done up in a complicated braided bun.

_Well hello, beautiful._

This magnificent creature clicked right up to her, and asked, "Are you the contact?"

 _Contact?_ "Uh..." Amira said, "Yeah. Of course." She thought to Oz, _Hold on a sec._ The fog stopped rolling in quite so quickly, curling lazily around their ankles.

The woman said, "Thank goodness you're early. We're having an _issue_ , and we need to work quickly if this is going to go through."

Amira said, "I'm ready." For what? It didn't matter.

The woman turned and started walking. Amira followed. "The package is waiting on the docks, but it's been stopped. Random customs check." She rolled her eyes. "The harbormaster keeps anything he decides to inspect for himself, but if this item is released, the results could be catastrophic."

Amira hissed. "Ooh. That's a problem, all right."

The woman looked at her, smiling. Then her face went deadly serious. "You're sure your people can handle this?"

"One hundred percent," she said.

“ _Amira?_ ” Oz whispered into her mind. " _I found this guy? He fainted when he saw me in this Form, but he dropped his phone. Amira, he was talking to—_ "

"What are _you_ doing here?" Amira turned. Vera Oberlin walked out of the mist.

Amira’s heart pattered. _My violent angel._

From the first day that she met Vera, she knew that they were destined to be... _something_ together. She was in awe of Vera's grace, while still being able to half-nelson anyone into doing whatever she wanted.

Vera crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.

"Uhhh...you know," Amira said. She straightened her jacket. "Or you would, if you would read my blog. I sent you the link, like...fifty times."

"She doesn't work for you?" the woman asked, glancing between them.

"As if," Vera said. She turned to the woman, and said as if Amira had never even been there, “Where’s the package? We don’t have much time.”

“Hold on a minute,’” the woman said.

It was as if Amira’s mind went on autopilot. _Okay. How do I turn this all over to Vera and come out with my best side showing?_

There was always the old stab-her-quick-in-the-back and steal her stuff. _Why do you always think of that first? You know it doesn’t work!_ It would kill the woman, but the first time Amira had tried it, Vera had taken it _really_ bad, asking if Amira thought she couldn’t make her own hits.

No matter what she tried, things never turned out the way Amira was hoping. At this point she could CHARM her way into pretty much any high-end cocktail party or smuggling ring meeting, but she was short on…well, actual ideas. You know, the kind that would pull through on a profit.

Vicky had been trying to coach her in the way of SMARTS, to give her a new angle to work, but most of the time Amira just couldn’t pull it off.

 _Okay, don’t panic. You know, just, approach logically. Maybe…“Sorry to interrupt, but, did you notice your car was on fire?_ ” She could get a car in a matter of seconds, because her buddy at the city’s teleportation center owed her a favor after spotting him during poker night.

It wasn’t close to her best, but it wasn’t like she had the time for brainstorming. She took out her phone.

Then, like a movie playing in her mind, Amira saw something else: herself, sneaking into a house. For a minute she was confused, but then she saw a glittering lake in the background—Walsh Cove, a cute new neighborhood on the edge of the Yards that had been built around an old mill pond. There was a little boy and an old woman, who were playing Super Narri 4—the woman was kicking the boy’s ass, and she knew it. Amira didn’t say anything to them, but she took the little swamp monster doll that was propped up against a kid’s backpack by the door before slipping back.

She saw herself, back here, and after giving Dave a quick wave before he struck his debt off the poker night talisman and headed back to work, taking the doll out from behind her back. _“I think you will hand it over to us…or else._ ”

 _That’s the one,_ Amira thought. She opened Dave’s contact.

_Hey. SNAP OUT OF IT!_

The mist curled coolly around her ankles. _…What?_

_Aren’t you forgetting something?_

Oh, shit. The bike.

 _This might be your last chance._ If Vera was here at all, it meant there was some serious MONEY to be made.

The woman said, “You’re not getting one ounce of product until you reduce. No one charges a commission of 95% of a sale! I could distribute on my own and it would be less than that.”

“Do you want to distribute on your own? You’d be welcome,” Vera said. “Good luck trying to find a market full of buyers in a city where you have no established contacts.”

Amira bit her lip. _But…but Vera Oberlin…_

_That’s the lady downstairs talking, not your head. You said you wanted to use your SMARTS, right?_

“Either take it or leave it,” Vera said. “Do you want this out of your hands, or not?”

The woman scowled. “…You’re lucky that I’m running out of time and options.”

“As if it’s luck,” Vera said. 

They were about to leave together.

Amira put herself between Vera and the woman. "Wait a sec! I can still do it," she said. "I’m sorry I acted like I worked for Vera, but…I'll give you a better deal."

"Get out of here before I have you bodily removed," Vera said.

"What did you have in mind?" the woman asked.

Vera said, "...What?"

_Gotta think fast._

Amira looked at the woman. She was not a classmate she was trying to impress or get with. Amira didn’t know anything about her. But, she looked exhausted. She probably just wanted to be at home in her PJs.

She said, "I…won't threaten you." She pointed. " _And_ , I won't sneak into your house and murder your family if you decide to return to using a competing service at a later time."

Vera rolled her eyes. Amira's stomach clenched. _God, she's right. What kind of reputable businesswoman can't back up her claims with an iron fist?_

"Really?" Ariadne said. She narrowed her eyes. "No contract?"

"You're kidding me," Vera said.

Ariadne turned to her and snapped, "Having a knife held to your back isn't the most comfortable way to do business, sweet."

Vera scoffed. She said, "I didn't say I would murder _you_ , you idiot. I said I would murder your family. It's a service in and of itself. You could double your business if your pesky _obligations_ would stop getting in the way."

Amira grabbed the chance. "I'll throw in an insult-free experience, since it's our first time working together."

“You don’t even have a real business!” Vera said.

Adriane smiled at Vera as she and Amira shook hands. "I'm very excited to explore this new partnership."

"Oh, not as excited as I am," Amira said. Her hands were so _smooth_ , and gave off just a hint of shea butter.

“I’ll call my car,” the woman said.

Vera scoffed and turned away. Amira grabbed her arm. “Hey. No hard feelings, right?”

_Any other day of the week I will literally donate my own organs for you to sell on the black market._

Vera regarded her. Amira felt prickles of fear and desire run up and down her spine.

“Watch your back,” Vera said, and clicked off.

Amira couldn’t believe it. _She told you to watch your back! _

It was just her and the woman. The woman held out her hand. “Adriane.”

“Amira.” They shook. "So…what exactly am I doing for you?" she asked.

Adriane laughed. Amira suddenly didn't care what it was.

Adriane started walking, and Amira followed. “I’m looking to pass on some…remains. They’re biologically unstable, but they’ve exhibited some unique properties that might be very valuable.” Her eyes went distant and cold. “Frankly, I don’t care what happens to them. I just want them gone.”

Amira felt the universe come into alignment. She turned sharply on her heel to walk backwards, took out her phone, and said, “Madam, you are in luck tonight. I know exactly the person you’re looking for.”

When they got to the docks, they found the bodies of three harbor employees, and three monsters in labcoats and sunglasses loading a crate into a white unmarked van. When they approached, a fourth came up to them, hiding the bottom half of their face with their lab coat. They handed Adriane a big paper bag before scurrying off. Adriane called after them. “Wait. Don’t you want to negotiate?”

Amira said, “I already got the call from the head boss. Once they heard the description, they were sold. I told them your price and they agreed.”

She felt a ping against her boob. _Speaking of which._

It was a text from Vicky’s mom. _Thnx for this! Do let me know if you hear of anything similar._

 _No prob,_ she texted back. _You won’t tell Isa and Aisha, right?_

 _I don’t know what you’re talking about,_ Vicky’s mom said. _If Monstropolis University or the city vigilantes would come around looking for 4 recently hired biochemists that have mysteriously disappeared?_

Amira looked up at the monsters in lab coats. She texted back the interrogating police bat, and, _I’m afraid I haven’t seen anyone of that description, officer._

Vicky’s mom texted her the clapping-hands emoji, and Amira’s phone was remotely wiped, like it always was. She stuck it in her pocket. It was nice to know, that she had at least one adult in her life who could act as a stand-up role model.

Adriane cleared her throat. “That was certainly something, especially considering it was a last-minute job.” She opened the paper bag. “Your commission should be around…15%?” she said.

“Huh?” 

Adriane gave her a knowing look. “Just starting out?” she said.

“…Yeah,” Amira said.

 _Aaaand,_ now she wouldn’t be getting half the rate she could have, if she’d actually done her homework. _See? This is what SMART people don’t have to worry about,_ she thought. They just _knew._

Adriane…smiled. “Well. If this is a sign of future things to come, I’ll be keeping my eye out.” She handed Amira a thick wad of bills. “35%. Standard market rate for the moment. And…” She reached in between her breasts, and took out a card. “Be in touch.”

Amira’s heart fluttered anew as Adriane pulled away in her car. The card was still warm from her skin.

Oz came out of the shadows of the boxes by the dockside. Amira held up the cash. "We _did it!_ " They threw their arms around each other, grinning. "You were so cool-headed," Oz said. "I would have totally crumbled if Vera had looked at _me_ like that."

"Ah, it was nothing," she said, with a neat little shrug.

"So," they said, "How did you know?"

“Know what?” she asked.

“That the family angle would work. I could see she has a little son and her elderly mother, since her husband left them, but I was reading her mind. How did you know?” they asked.

Amira blinked. For a minute she could see, with perfect clarity, that living room, and the doll, and the kid.

“I…I’m just that good,” she said, popping a hip. She pointed at them. “And don’t you be reading my mind. I gotta have some secrets. It’s all part of my aura of mystery—here one minute, gone the next.”

"Well whatever it was, it worked," they said.

She and Oz went straight to the Grieving Priestess after school the next day. “We did it! We did it!” Amira said. She slapped Oz’s arm over and over again like a child on pixie sticks.

It seemed like ten billion years before they finally saw GP’s violet-and-gold sign hanging over the street. She said, “This is going to be the greatest night of our…”

The front display was empty. Amira stared.

She shoved the bag of MONEY on Oz and yanked open the front door. Drusilla was behind the counter, dark bags under her eyes. "Where's the bike?" Amira asked.

"Gone. Thank goodness," Drusilla said.

"You…sold it?" she asked.

"I don't know. I don't care. All I know, is that my life has been _hell_ since it arrived, and I'm not putting up with it anymore. I told Nate to get rid of it," Drusilla said.

“What happened?” Oz asked.

A book flew from one end of the shop to the other, landing in a display of antique perfume bottles. They shattered.

Drusilla said, "That! That's been happening for _two weeks_ , and I'm done with it!"

The pen cup right next to her did a full flip, and landed on the floor, scattering the pens. The lights flickered. The flame of one of the candles next to the crystal balls plumed up into a jet of fire, and the bundles of herbs caught fire.

Quick as she could, Amira breathed in the flames, sucking them up, until the last tail was swallowed down. Oz quickly put out the other candle. It instantly re-lit.

They stared at the new flame. “You said this was happening since the bike arrived?” they asked. “I don’t remember seeing anything weird. Sometimes if an item is cursed can take a few days before you see the full effect, but usually _something_ happens right away.”

“I don’t really care about your opinions. You didn’t have a full display of 18th-century bayonets aiming themselves at you!” Drusilla snapped. She ripped back to the curtain to the stock room. " _Nate_!"

It took him a minute, but Nate emerged, back hunched, shrinking down. “You said it was gone!” Drusilla said.

“I-it is,” he said.

She pointed to the bottles and the burnt herbs. 

“I don’t know!” he said. “Maybe it’s something else in the shop. Maybe we should—”

She reached for the mace paperweight that they used to hold down custom order forms. He said, “Okay, okay! The helmet’s still in the back, but that’s it, I swear!”

“Get. It. Out!” she said.

“Dru, come _on_ ,” Nate said.

“No! That bike is a _cursed_ son of a bitch!”

A spreader bar whipped off the wall, and landed right into the breast of the other stone statue flanking the door. The crack spidered, and the whole thing fell apart in three pieces.

Drusilla gripped her chiton. "...Out. _Get it out_ , Nate!"

"Okay, okay, I'm going!" he said. He disappeared into the back. Amira tried to follow him, but Drusilla cut her off. "If you're not buying something, _get out_." 

“I’m _trying_ ,” Amira said.

Drusilla didn’t bother with the Winds this time—she threw them out herself. Amira pressed her nose against the glass, but the gray curtains on the other side fell closed.

* * *

“We don’t have to go,” Oz said. They were up in Amira’s room, getting ready for the Hallows. 

Amira carefully dabbed at one eyelid; her eyelids were lulled, her mouth stretched open into a quasi-shriek. When she was done, both eyelids would be painted with one continuous scene of a line of teddy bears marching towards the woods, ready for their picnic, wicker baskets in hand and the evening’s _entertainment_ still wriggling in its ropes _._

They said, “We could stay in and watch horror movies. I’ll bake some dumpster cookies and we’ll mix drinks.”

Amira lightly closed both of her eyes before speaking, so nothing would smudge. She said, “Nope. I am not going to let this define me. I’m going to go. I’m going to get drunk. I’m going to have an amazing time with an awesome friend.”

They said, “I just don’t want you to feel bad all night because we couldn’t get the bike.” 

She looked confidently into the mirror, stretched her mouth into the shriek again, and kept painting. Like a boss, Oz got her brushes ready for her with the next color, and put her straw into her mouth when she needed water. They said, “If Damien gives you shit, I’m going 100% spooky on his ass. No holding back.”

When she was done and had set the look, she asked, “You want me to do you?” It was dark now, but each teddy bear was _perfectly_ defined. _So worth it._

They looked at her pile of palettes. Their face was a mixture of longing and regret. “I…don’t wear make-up anymore,” they said.

She said, “Gender thing?” They nodded. She nodded too, and put her hand over theirs, squeezing. “Okay…but, you’d look good,” she said. She put an arm around them. “After all. This night is an opportunity: to inhabit yourself as _you_.”

Oz full-on pig-snorted into their hands. She threw back her head with laughter, and hugged them. “Come on. We gotta get the bus.”

The party was in full swing when they arrived: music bumping, monsters mashing. The guy who juggled chainsaws was standing right in front of the entrance, like he always was. He came at them as they approached. Amira punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground. One of the chainsaws cut off his left hand. “That’s what you get!” she said, pointing.

“Whoa,” Oz said. The trees in the park were festooned with black-and-orange TP. Glittering spiderwebs hung from the branches, and hanging lanterns swung back and forth in the wind.

“I think someone’s waving at you,” Amira said.

A large, bodacious queen stood behind the Lava Lounge's the bar set up they had at the Hallows every year. S/he was wearing an adorable tiny witch's hat and a _very_ ripped dress. Oz gasped and waved back enthusiastically. They called out, “Hi, Mistress Booday!”

“That’s the Mistress?” Amira asked. Everyone knew her—s/he was the biggest, sassiest, classiest, and most _trans_ luscent queen around. Amira was dying to see her show, but it was always sold out. “You’ve been to Lava Lounge?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? I spent more time there last summer than at home,” they said.

When they approached, the Mistress swept Oz up a big hug, swinging them back and forth. “Oz Yesfirovich! My own child. It’s been _too_ long.” When she set them down, she gave them a sage look. “And how is our mother?"

Oz said, "My mom is good. She's working tonight, I think."

"Oh, boo! Well, at least you’re among us.” She motioned for both of them to come up to the booth. “You gotta try this! The Lava Lounge’s special--Gallows at the Hallows punch!”

She served up a big, electric pink portion to the ogre waiting at the front of the line. He took a sip. His eyes bugged out; a bit of liquid flew out of his mouth. Then he actually rose up a few inches off the ground, as if hanging by the neck. When he finally came back down, he eagerly held out his cup. "Hit me again!" She grinned as she dished it up.

"Got anything for someone who wants to remain stationary? And who needs the stiffest drink in the universe," Amira said.

"Oh, say no more." Mistress Booday pulled up a smaller, smoking cauldron up from under his/her plastic table. "If you get it in our special souvenir mug…” She held up a mug in the shape of a stylized vagina. “Refills are free. Don't spread that around, though. People have been coming up and _paying_ for refills, and I'm not going to turn down an extra trip to the salon when it walks up to me.” 

Amira loved this person. “Why didn’t we do this?” she asked Oz. “Just set up a booth and sell shit? It would have been a lot less work.”

“Because Val Oberlin would have our eyes removed like she did to Misty Kulavich?” Oz said.

“Oh. Right,” Amira said.

When they had their mugs full of something warm, thick, and creamy, the Mistress waved them back into the night. “You come see us soon, all right, Oz? I wanna hear all about your _fabulous_ new high school life!” 

"Yes, Mistress," Oz said obediently.

Mistress Booday grinned. “I _love_ it when people say that.”

“Me too,” Amira said. Mistress Booday gasped, and Amira offered him/her a fist to bump. The Mistress bounced a bit on his/her high heels before s/he did. “You bring her with you,” s/he said.

Amira and Oz hopped up onto the park’s wall with their mugs. Amira blew on the surface of hers.

The stuff warmed her from head to toe, and surrounded her in a swirl of nutmeg and rum. "Ooh," Oz said. "That's good." She rested her head on Oz's shoulder. They watched a group of kids from the elementary school chase a crossing-guard down the street with axes, clubs, and torches, rhythmically chanting. “The wheels on the bus go round and round. Round and round. Round and round. Round and round. Round and round.”

Amira caught sight of Scott Howl with Polly and Miranda, and she waved at them. Polly said, "Miri, Scott, come on! I gotta get my name in for the apple bobbing competition," Polly said. She grinned. "You're going _down,_ big guy!"

"No way!" Scott said. "It'll be fetching and swimming at the same time, and I'm great at both those things!"

"But do you have what it takes once the wet t-shirt round kicks in?" She wiggled her boobs in the black bustier of her sexy nun costume.

"You are both wrong," Miranda said. "I will undoubtedly be the best, because I have hired the reigning champion of competitive scuba diving to represent me in the games."

Polly said, "Shouldn't you just, you know...do it yourself? You have gills. You can breathe underwater."

Miranda gasped. "And _ruin_ my beautiful costume?" she asked. She did a twirl in her _adorable_ Marcia Mouse costume, complete with ears. "No. Andreas shall be victorious, or face lifetime imprisonment in our dungeons!"

They scurried off.

Oz watched them go with longing. Polly was still in sight. Amira sighed. "Go," she said. "I'll mourn my loser-dom alone for a while."

"You're not a loser," Oz said. 

She reached into her wallet and pulled out some bills. "Bring back another souvenir mug, okay? Vicky should be around here somewhere. We'll spare her the line." Before they left, they gave her a warm squeeze around the shoulders. She pinched their cheek as she pushed them off.

Once she finished her drink and started on the second, she wandered to the parking lot that was across the street. Every Hallows a bunch of motorheads got together to show off their seasonally appropriate decorations. Amira especially liked the guy who had mounted a full-sized jack o' lantern made out of some weird-looking papier mache. He was all alone at the back of the lot, and everyone seemed to be keeping their distance.

Amira approached the car. "Such artistry," she said, looking at the details of the jack-o's mouth. Each tooth was rendered separately in little twists of papier mache. She smiled at the guy. "How'd you make it?" she asked him. Turns out he was Monstropolis' number one tanner! He gave her his card, and a little planner with his company's logo on it, bound in human skin.

She and he were discussing manufacturers for product samples, when Vera and Liam walked into the parking lot.

Liam had his sickle, and a ... costume? She couldn’t quite tell. He was dressed like he always was, but he had a sign around his neck:

_Slash carbon emissions, not hapless teenagers_

_Because climate change means we all die, and the “pure virgin” trope reinforces obsolete sex and gender roles that never made for an interesting plot in the first place._

When she approached, Vera didn't even look at her. "Didn't expect to see you here," she said to Liam.

He said, "We're not staying. There's a private Hallows party at Desiderata."

"Really?" she asked. She hadn't heard anything. If it was true, it would be 10x better than any stupid city-approved bash. She tried to imagine what the playrooms would be like, slicked floor-to-ceiling with unknown blood. It sent a pulse of arousal through her.

She cleared her throat, caught Liam's eye, and smiled, making sure to show her good side. He scowled. "It's an _intimate_ gathering," he said. Which was Liam-speak for: _no fucking way._

She took a swig of punch. "Well. Have _FUN_ ," she said.

"Entirely not the point," Liam said. "Anyway, Damien's giving us a ride."

Her stomach tightened. "…Ride?" she asked.

"He said he's up the street," Vera said, clicking her phone shut.

Rocking as it mounted the curb into the parking lot, up rolled the smokiest, creakiest, most falling apart car that Amira had ever seen. Its paint was badly rusted--which was good, because there wasn't a fuglier color on this earth. Both of the back side windows had been smashed.

Amira fell back onto the chain link fence, laughing. A few of the people there with actual cars looked on in pity.

Damien got out of the driver's seat. "Shows how much you know about cars, Rasheed," he said.

"I think I know enough to say that's not a car," Vera said. "That's a pile of junk on wheels."

"Hey! Be nice to Nancy," Damien said.

" _Nancy_?" Liam said. "If you must, at least give it a gender-neutral name."

"Your parents must have royally screwed you over," Vera said.

Damien's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

She searched his face. "You… _picked_ this?" she asked.

He slapped her hood. "Are you kidding? It was love at first sight!"

She face-palmed. Damien said, "Okay, so she's been ridden rough. That's what I like about her! She's seen shit."

Amira forced herself upright. She wiped the tears from her eyes. "Oh man. Oh my god. Okay, you two definitely enjoy that ride to Desi. Text when you get there, so that I know you're still ah, aliveahahahahaha!"

Liam looked at Vera, as if begging her to find some way to magically transform the car into something half-way decent. Vera sighed. "Let's go," she said.

Amira caught her arm. "Hey. Look on the bright side, Oberlin! You won't have to worry about not being able to find it in a parking lot full of sports cars and limos, when you're smashed." 

"I hadn't even thought of that!" Damien said. He held up a hand. Amira hesitated before she high-fived him. Damien grinned at his car. "Nancy, you're the best!"

Amira waved to them as they clunked off. _Huh._ It was weird how even the best-laid plans sometimes led to completely unexpected results. Weird, and kinda FUN.

She checked her phone.

_GROUP BLITZ!_

_BOLDNESS: +2, CHARM: +1. Good job capitalizing on people’s most intimate hopes for the future—and laying the groundwork for yours!_

“Oh come on,” she said. “Not even _one_ extra MONEY? I only busted my ass for two weeks!” 

She got another notification: _And you would have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those meddling forces of the market!_

She raised an eyebrow, and pocketed the phone. She said under her breath, “When’d you start getting so sassy?”

A few minutes later, Oz came back. They handed over the extra mug. "There was also a wandering drunk guy giving out candy apples. I got you one. It had some teeth in it, and I figured you could use them," Oz said.

"Hell yeah I can," Amira said. "How was it with Polly?"

"Oh, um." They rubbed the back of their neck. "I...lost her immediately. It's okay. Next time!"

When she told Oz about Damien's new love, they snorted, and then looked thoughtful. "What do you think happened to the bike, if Damien didn't buy it?" Oz said.

She shrugged. "Maybe someone else did. Or it went back into the black market. Good luck trying to find out now that it's gone. That's the motto of the Murder District: if you're not looking at it, you have no legal proof it ever existed."

A whole stream of monsters ran into the parking lot, looking over their shoulders back towards the street. There was the hum of a distant engine. Even a few of the hard-core, stabby-type car dudes looked over.

They couldn’t see through the crowd, so Amira and Oz pushed through to the front. Vicky was surrounded by people, leaning sexily on the seat of a poison-green, chrome-accented, leather-trimmed...bicycle?

Amira said. "What the...?"

"Do you like it?" Vicky asked, making her voice low and husky. She took off her helmet shook out her hair. A rain of orange and red leaves fell from the trees and landed in a crown around her head, making her look like a seasonal forest princess.

"Where did you get it?" Oz asked.

"First prize in the annual trick-or-treating competition!" Vicky said. "Me and a bunch of people from drama club decided to enter. Little did they know, that my mom's second cousin Dr. Professor Holmes was in town!" She cackled. "And all their candy was _mine_. He let me use his tubs of quick lime so long as he got a cut of chocolate-based treats, and I can't eat those anyway."

"Here it comes!" Someone yelled. In the rush towards the street, Vicky and the bike were pushed to the ground. Amira and Oz helped her back up.

The sound of a rumbling engine got louder and louder. People parted to let someone through.

It was _fucking Nate_. He rolled right up the three of them on the bike. The light from the headlights made Oz's phobias hiss and bare their teeth. "Hey guys," Nate said.

"Oh… _hell_ no," Amira said.

"I knew it!" Oz said. “All that stuff at the shop! It was just a diversion!" they said.

Nate hissed, then said, "Guilty as charged. You're looking at a two-time winner of the Spooky High annual psychological torture competition & talent show." He opened his leather jacket. The medal was pinned to the lining.

Amira said, "But...but..."

Nate said, "Look, Thom would never have let me buy this normally. But if it's a _cursed_ stock item, that Dru and I have to get rid of?" He grinned. "Even doms have their fantasies. They're _way_ into curseplay." He revved the engine. "See ya!"

Amira felt her heart driving away as Nate sped over a couple people in the crowd who couldn't get out of the way fast enough. _It doesn't even stall. It goes right through them like butter!_

"I'm sorry, Amira," Oz said.

"Don't worry." Vicky pulled down her aviators. "I'll give you guys a ride anytime you want."

* * *

Mama and Papa Rasheed were sitting on the wicker porch sofa, having mint tea when the three of them rolled up to the house.

They stared as a retro-reboot bike pedaled its way up the street with three high school-aged monsters piled onto it. Amira was on the handlebars, and Oz was on the back. Someone's Jag tailed behind them, honking over and over again, but every time it tried to go around them Vicky veered in front of it. She yelled, "We share the road, jerk! Wait your turn!" sending Amira and Oz into waves of stomach-clutching laughter.

"Hi Mrs. and Mr. Rasheed!" Vicky said, pulling off to their side of the street. The Jag finally roared past. The driver gave Vicky the finger. She grinned, and did another loop. "It's great, right? I won it in a contest!"

"It's...lovely, Vicky," Aisha said.

On the next go-around, Vicky slowed to a stop. Amira hopped off the handlebars. She had an ultra-full treat bag hanging off one arm. Vicky said, "Hey, I'm going to drop Oz off at home. We're going to take a look at their sister's motorcycle. Maybe I can recreate a version of the engine on Eleanor!"

"Thanks for hanging out, Amira," Oz said.

"See you," she said. They pedaled down the street, just in time to pull in front of someone's Lambo and slow it down to a crawl.

Aisha said, “Well, that’s certainly no motorcycle. I’m guessing it’s not the one you wanted to buy and ride to the Hallows?”

Amira froze with one foot on the porch, her nose wrinkled.

In the past, she had become convinced her mom might be able to read minds; but Oz told her that she was probably getting info from somewhere, or _someone_ , else. She hadn’t made headway as to who or how yet.

 _Not worth it right now._ She sighed and shook her head. "It’s gone. Turns out the race was rigged before the gun even fired." 

Aisha softened. “I’m sorry,” Isa said.

Amira sat between them on the sofa. “Whatever. Let the record show that I actually tried? You know, the normal business route. It just wasn't enough.”

For a minute, it was just the crickets, the wind in the leaves, and Amira’s crushing feelings of inadequacy.

Her mom said, “You know…I wasn’t intending to start my business when I did. But when I posted pictures of your nursery online, people liked that I could design a room that made them excited to have a child, but still mature enough that they wanted to spend time in there as an adult. And I could stick to a budget." She stroked a bit of ash off Amira's shoulder. "You find the thing that you can do, that no one is doing. Then run with it."

"…I don't know if I have anything special like that," Amira said.

Her mom gave her a look. "You're my daughter, aren't you?" She kissed Amira's forehead. "Of course you do. You'll find it, in time."

She sighed, rubbing Amira's head, and stood. "I'm going in." She looked at Isa. "Don't stay up too late. I don't think you'll be able to see anything tonight." The sky above the houses and bungalows of their neighborhood was blood red and smoky, from all the fires, looting, and raves downtown.

When the door clicked closed, Isa smiled at Amira. "Did you enjoy the party, at least?"

Amira unzipped her boots, kicked them off, and pulled her knees up to her chest. "It was all right, I guess," she said. A chilling wind blew down the street. She shivered. He draped some of his blanket over her. "Here," he said.

He also handed her an envelope.

Inside was 100 MONEY. Amira gasped as she counted it. Isa's eyes sparkled. "A small investment, in a unique opportunity."

"...Seriously?" she asked.

"When your mom was trying to start her business, I was still in graduate school. We didn't have very much MONEY, and my parents were already doing what they could to help us to pay for rent and expenses." He said, "Your _jidda_ loaned her 100 MONEY to design a website and buy photo editing software. They had to keep it a secret from your grandfather." He put an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. "The next thing I knew, she was paying off my student loans."

"...Way to go, grandma," Amira said.

His brow wrinkled. "I don't know where she got that MONEY. She didn't work a day in her life. But, that only made it that much more special."

Amira turned the envelope over in her hands. "I won't let you down, Papa," she said.

He kissed her forehead. "Even if you don't succeed the first time, we'll always love you."

* * *

“Thanks for this,” Vicky said to Oz. She rolled up the schematics she had taken of the engine on Serafina’s Phantasma and stuck them in Eleanor’s basket.

“I’m just glad that my sister didn’t come poking around. She would kill me if she knew I touched her bike,” they said. Vicky mounted Eleanor’s seat. “See you at school on Monday? I wanna hear everything about what you and Amira got up to.” 

The house below was quiet and dark. A light rain pattered on the glass ceiling over the entryway.

“ _Oz, sweetheart?_ Is that you?”

They locked the passageway to the informal entrance. “Yeah mom,” they said. 

“Can you come here for a minute?” She was in the throne room. Its door was ajar.

They set down their bag of candy by the grand staircase, and grabbed a mini Big Daddy bar off the top. When they stuck it in their mouth the liquid marshmallow filling burst, and they giggled, as they stopped it from dribbling all over their chin. Their phobias happily split the wrapper. _I was wrong about this holiday. It’s all right._ They wiped their hands on their jeans before going in.

The throne room was packed. Shadows of every size, shape, and Form stood in endless rows. The room had been stretched so long and so wide to accommodate everyone, that Oz could barely see their parents’ thrones at the back. They froze.

A formal public audience.

The doors shut behind them, and Oz heard them lock. Everyone watched them, silent.

“Princeling Ozimiri. Come forward,” their mother said.

Their throat and maw clenched, and they almost vomited right there.

Oz carefully folded their arm behind their back, and trained their eyes on the floor. They focused on keeping their steps slow and graceful. It kept them moving forward.

When they approached the bar, they bowed. Their mother said, “You may rise.”

When they did, their mom’s brow was furrowed. Their sisters were there. Vadim was at the very the back, wearing his _kokoshnik,_ his face covered in a Mist Veil that obscured it from public view. And—

Jūratė Vilkaitė. Their mother's head general. The Kingdom didn't have police, so she wouldn't be there unless there was a high-profile crime…or an arrest to be made.

“W-what’s going on?” they asked.

“That’s what we’re trying to ascertain.” Gintara opened a folder on her lap. "According to your latest quota report, you claimed 98% of Fear reaped was conscious, through direct engagement." She took off her gold-rimmed reading glasses. “Usually at least 50-75% comes from unconscious passive, and the documentation here is barely complete enough to be accepted for submission. Can you explain this?”

 _Shit._ A fraud investigation.

"I…I-I…” They tried to steady themself. “I…decided to change tactics this month," they said.

“Yeah right,” Serafina said.

“I did!”

“For any particular reason?” Rūta asked.

Vadim motioned, and whispered something to Jūratė. She said, “Your Highnesses, their majesties have not given you jurisdiction to question the Princeling.”

Oz said, “I-it was Halloween.”

Gintara looked to Jūratė, and then Esther, both of whom looked back blankly. Gintara asked, "Is this like summer vacation? Where you try to convince me something is real when it's obviously not."

"Summer vacation was real," Oz said. They turned to Serafina and Ruta. "You two went to school on the Surface. They had to do stuff for Halloween at St. Caim's. You complained when they made everyone do a ritual ‘to extirpate the incubi of the mind’ for Valentine's Day!"

Ruta and Serafina looked at each other, then distinctly avoided each other's eyes.

"Girls!" Gintara said. "You told me you _fully_ investigated all circumstantial explanations."

Rūta coughed. "I...believe that aspect of the investigative process fell to Princess Serafina," she said.

Serafina glared at her. She straightened, and glanced at her mother, before looking at the floor. "I did," she said.

"We went ahead with an official investigation! Do you realize how much time and bureaucratic energy people exerted on behalf of your allegations?" Gintara asked.

"Whatever!" Serafina said. "I still don't believe they put in 98% on conscious fears. They're always such a baby about this stuff."

Gintara sighed. "Do you have any corroborating documentation other than what you already submitted?" she asked Oz.

Now they were really wishing they and Amira had been able to see the hospital plan through to the end. It would difficult to argue with a writhing baby Fearmonger dressed in a Kucchi onesie, being cared for by an underpaid nanny.

They did still have the "guest list" for their retreat. They'd stuck it in their pocket after "taking care" of the last guest.

They double-checked it, pretending to make sure everything was in order, but actually making sure there was nothing that could lead back to them and Amira earning MONEY through capitalist exchange. They handed it over to their mom's advisor, Deirdre, along with the few bits and bobs that even Corbyn's wouldn't pay MONEY for.

Jūratė stopped Deirdre before she got to the dual thrones. She looked at the list. “You frightened Grez Bloodfoot?” she asked.

Everyone turned to look at her.

“…No you didn’t,” Serafina said.

“The names or status of the individuals or groups who are frightened are not considered in quota valuations. They have no bearing on this inquiry,” Gintara said.

Deirdre looked up at Oz from the list. "Grine Gwinnet?" she said.

Then, heads really turned. The people in the crowd started whispering to each other. Vadim, who always kept silent and obedient during a public audience, looked up.

"Who?" Rūta asked.

Gintara considered for a long time before responding. “A wanted Enemy of the Kingdom," she said. "She and her father were largely responsible for the poisoning of the springs of the Mother Aether in the Crystal Ridges of Desolation.”

“That wasn't only me," they said, "so I didn't include it in the totals for my quota."

Their mother’s eyes sharpened. “Who was with you?” 

“Oh come on,” Serafina said. “They didn’t do this. They’re making it up!”

Someone in the crowd called out: “ _Read the list!_ ”

A mist of vaporous tentacles and limbs raised. An overwhelming feeling of agreement rose from the crowd.

“ _Read it!_ ”

“Yeah.”

“ _We wanna know!_ ”

Yesfir cleared her throat. The room went silent. She said, “We will not read the list. We no longer take the identities of individuals being frightened into account, because it introduces inequity into the quota system.” She looked out over everyone. “Do I make myself clear?”

Jūratė was looking at one of the evidence bags. She said, "Your majesty, I think we should close the investigation to the public for the time being."

The crowd groaned. "Aw, come on!" someone said.

"It was just getting to the good part!"

"I agree with General Vilkaitė," Vadim whispered.

Gintara stood. "You heard the general. Disperse. A full report with all the relevant details will be published upon the conclusion of the investigation, in accordance with the law."

In a swirl of black, white, and gray, they took to the skies.

Oz slumped in relief. Lost in the fog of so many people, they felt a few pats on the back, and a few whispered “ _nice work_ ”s.

They reached out. “ _Mom?_ ”

A hand closed down their shoulder. It was Jūratė. “This way, your Highness.”  
“Can’t I talk to my par—”

“No,” she said.

She led them to their mother’s study. They sat down in the chair in front of their mother’s desk, and she sat opposite. Neither of them said anything. Oz had to crush the impulse to fidget.

Serafina spent as much time at the Vilkaitės’ as she did at home, but Jūratė had always creeped Oz out. She was one of those people, like Grez Bloodfoot, or Vadim, who were a psychic fortress. Their minds gave off nothing except white static. Sometimes bits and pieces escaped—names, images, little pieces of memory or thought—but you had no idea what was real, and what was being created for you to see. 

They forced themself to make eye contact. It only made you look more guilty if you avoided people’s eyes.

She said, “Don’t worry. You won't be arrested for your illegal economic activities. I've already destroyed the evidence,” she said.

“...why would you do that?" Oz asked. 

She looked away from them, into the fire.

Their parents came in, followed by Vadim and their mom's advisor, Deirdre. Jūratė said, “Goldfeld, I need you draw up an official pardon. I have struck a deal with the Princeling in exchange for the truth. There will be no punishment, formal or informal, and no trial."

"What?" Gintara said. "I didn't give you leave to do that."

"That's why I didn't wait for you," Jūratė said. "Besides, considering the public response, I doubt that the people would abide by it." She gazed at Oz. "You'll honor our agreement, your Highness?"

They hesitated, then nodded. "I want the pardon signed first," they said. "And copies made."

Jūratė said, "Like mother, like child,” looking over her shoulder. Gintara huffed. 

When all the paperwork was signed and stamped, Oz gave them a basic version of what had happened, minus the MONEY-making and any specific mention of Amira. Everyone had a lot of questions about what happened to Grine Gwinnet. They didn’t have much to say about it, because they hadn’t been in charge of that part of their plan.

“You’re sure she’s dead. Do you know where the body is? Can you take us there?” their mother asked.

Yesfir said, “Oh, Ginny!” 

“What? I want to make sure,” Gintara said.

Oz kept their eyes on Jūratė, who remained quiet until their parents and Deirdre seemed mostly done.

Finally, Jūratė asked, "When was the fear reaped from Grez Bloodfoot? The same day as the others in that group?”

Oz nodded. “The thirteenth."

“That's what I suspected.” After a long time, she said, "Well. I'm very glad you're safe and sound, your Highness. I would suggest, in the future, not taking on such endeavors without someone more experienced with you. It can be dangerous." She stood and turned to their parents. "Everything I’ve seen in my own investigation tells me the report is not fraudulent. Though I suppose you'll still send Goldfeld running around like a puppy, gathering forms."

"Oh, very mature, Vilkaitė," Deirdre said.

Jūratė looked at her. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm very grateful for the work you do. I certainly don't want to do it."

"Okay," Gintara said, putting a hand on Jūratė's arm. "Enough. You already have one strike against you, don't make it worse."

"Come on, sweetheart," Yesfir said. Oz stood, and she put her arm around them. "We're going to have a _long talk_ before you go to bed." They pressed herself close to her side.

Jūratė looked at Gintara, and nodded towards the study door. " _Go with them_."

"We need to talk about your breach of conduct first," Gintara said.

"Scold me later. If I hadn't done it, the Princeling wouldn't have even told us that much," Jūratė said. "Goldfeld will serve me my sentence. You're tired, and worried out of your mind. Rest."

Gintara hesitated. Deirdre said, "I'll make sure everything is wrapped up for the night, your majesty. According to procedure."

Finally, Gintara left.

"You know something," Vadim said. He took down his Mist Veil _._ "Something more than the rest of us."

Jūratė nodded. "I didn't want to bring it up in front of Gintara and Yesfir. If it were Birutė who had done this, I would wish I didn’t know. I would appreciate it if you leave it out of the official report."

"If it's not directly related to proving the claims of Oz’s quota, it doesn't make a difference in the investigation," Deirdre said. "You barely gave Oz a short quiz. I was expecting much more from an official interrogation led by you."

Jūratė said, “I had already verified all the contents of the report; but by coincidence, I knew something must have happened to Grez Bloodfoot. That’s what concerned me.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Deirdre said. Vadim shook his head.

“He’s a mercenary.” Jūratė sighed. “A blight upon the earth. Whoever he was last hired by stationed him near the triple-border between us, the Angelic Realms, and Hell. We always have troops there. The units are over half girls, and there have been some very frightening run-ins.”

She said, “On the thirteenth, his troops were acting strangely, shifting around without any kind of logic. I decided we would attack, and we captured the entire lot. I killed most of his officers myself.” She gave Deirdre an innocent look. “I promise, they were all _very_ guilty.”

Deirdre gave her a dry look. “Oh, I’m sure you put them through a thorough court martial, adhering to all international laws and Kingdom regulations.”

Jūratė said, “In the process I found out that Bloodfoot had left for someplace, and that was very strange. He has to keep close or his troops fall into chaos. I was worried that it might be some kind of trap, but none ever came.” She settled back. “It caught me off guard when I saw his name on that list. I would have never expected it.”

“Why did you not want to tell this to Gintara?” Deirdre said. “Thus far, other than Oz doing a service to the Kingdom, it doesn’t seem like anything too concerning.” She thought for a moment. “Other than, you know, the murders. I can see why you might not want her to know about those.”

The fire crackled. Washed in its half light, Jūratė said, “Bloodfoot was particularly notorious amongst the mercenaries and military circles of the Upper and Lower Worlds for killing his victims at close range. He let his underlings do most of the fighting on the battlefield and reserved more interesting kills for himself. You could tell when he left a body behind. Seminal fluid on the face. Genitals always removed.”

Vadim put a hand on his breast. “God,” Deirdre said.

Jūratė nodded. “It was widely rumored that he got his start, when he raped and murdered his partner. Apparently she was going to leave him, and he snapped. They said that for years, he acted like she was still alive, even as he re-created the kill over and over again.”

She still had one of the evidence bags in her hand. “I never knew if it was true. Ruthlessness is a selling point, and people make up stories about themselves all the time. Some people used to joke, that before he dumped the body, he made a necklace out of her hair.”

Inside the bag was a hand-woven string, with a simple gold ring hanging off it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to note, this chapter may be heavily edited & changed in the future; it's not what I was originally imagining, but I wanted it to go up on Halloween, so, here it is. I'll find some way of notifying everyone if I would make major changes to it. 
> 
> This story will be on pause for the next month. I'm participating in NaNoWriMo, and will be dedicating it to my first original novel. However, most of the next chapter is written with only a few scenes left to be completed, and hopefully it will be up soon after the start of December. (Or, maybe it will be up way before then, if my anxiety gets the better of me and I pitch the novel to work on this again.) 
> 
> 🎃🔮🦇
> 
> Black and QBIPOC lives matter. Stay strong & spooky, my friends.


	5. Brian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Brian Yu. The gang's all here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first time updating after playing Monster Camp! I just want to say before we get started: I CALLED JUAN BEING A FUCKING BARTENDER. Those chapters of Bildungsroman were posted back in 2019, when Monster Camp was barely a glimmer on the horizon. (I think it was posted pretty soon after the initial annoucement.) 
> 
> I'm happy to see him in the game and thought they way they did it was great, but I'm also a little sad that his canon depiction fucks with my story line. They're different in some key ways. (I would argue mine is superior because he can be smooched.) I'm not going to go back and change anything in past chapters to reflect the new info. He's a fucking wizard, and he can change colors and forms if he wants to. Monster Prom devs, if you ever see this, hit me up when you inevitably turn him a dateable character. I have that shit down. (If anyone could pass that message onto them I'd be grateful.) 
> 
> Now let's go!

Brian Yu was sitting in his usual spot under the tree outside. Morning classes were done—not that he’d gone. Lunch had been great. His mom surprised him by making him a homemade egg salad sando, and cut his carrots into little flowers, like she used to do when he was a kid.

The sun shone warm on his face, dappling across his rotting cheeks. He yawned, and slipped into sleep. 

A huddle of shadows overtook him.

“ _Dude, you sure?_ ”

“ _Look at him. The freshie’s out of it._ ”

“ _Poke him with something first!_ ”

A stick poked into Brian’s cheek. He snored.

“ _Dude, he must be zonked._”

“ _Okay, come on._ ”

Brian grabbed the dude around the waist and flipped him over his shoulder, ready to slam him straight into the ground. Three other monsters stumbled back, falling over each other. “ _Run for it!_ ”

It was Twig Gallagher, a velociraptor someone brought back from the Age of the Dinosaurs. He had rampaged the school until someone endowed him with the lost soul of a frat boy who died with unfinished business. Now he was a fellow student, along with the rest of the thirsty bitches who attended Spooky High.

Twig’s adorable clawed feet flailed in the air. “Wait! Wait, wait! I have MONEY.”

Brian paused.

“Help a dude out,” Twig said. “All I need, is to find a head to finish a statue. You don’t use yours all the time, right? Please. This could get me a date to the Monster Prom. I-I could get laid! This is my unfinished business, dude!”

“…How much?” Brian asked.

Twig squirmed harder. Brian kept his hold. Twig said, “T-two?” Brian started squeezing him. “Three! Three! It’s all I’ve got, I swear!”

Brian sighed. He thought it over.

Slowly, his grip loosened a bit. Twig stopped flailing around so much.

Brian said, “No.”

He body-slammed Twig into the ground until the three MONEY fell out of his t-shirt pocket. Then he picked him up by the tail, spun him around until he’d picked up speed, and tossed him towards the sky. He disappeared in a glimmer.

A few monsters clapped. Most people were too high to notice, or care.

Brian picked up the MONEY. He sighed as he settled back underneath the tree, making himself comfortable. “Next time just check the shop, dumbass.”

* * *

Brian kept to himself, and that was the way he liked it.

On any particular day at his school, you could find kids committing major violations of international law; trading drugs with all the viciousness of trading sticker collections; and murder bungee jumping, on the good days. You could leave school grounds to make a quick trip to the liquor store for booze for an afternoon rager, or to go to the Cayman Islands, because why wouldn’t you be on a fucking beach, if you could?

Not Brian. He didn’t have the MONEY for that kind of shit. He spent most days cutting class in the bathrooms listening to music, or on days when he felt more social, hanging out outside, getting high, or getting down low on the patch of bare ground that was “the Dance Floor.” He kept his shenanigans just quiet enough so that the school wouldn’t call his mom, and flew under the radar. 

All in all, it was pretty sweet.

He went to the bathrooms alone. He went to class alone. He wandered the halls alone. He navigated through the endless jungle that had taken over the school parking lot, alone.

But, you know. It was fine.

At least he wasn’t picked last in gym.

When they were picking teams for DODGEBALL, Miranda immediately snapped him up. “I designate you my shield,” she said. She had him kneel down, bonked him on the head with her scepter, and threw some glitter on his head.

“Sure,” he said. _Best. Day. Ever._

The whistle blew, and the game began! Miranda was accompanied by her usual entourage of seven serfs, carrying her on her pink marble palanquin, so she was an easy target.

Amira Rasheed wound up a doozy of a throw—by the looks of it, a Hydra overhand toss, which would take out exactly seven people simultaneously and send Miranda crashing to the floor.

Brian took the hit for Miranda. Coach blew his whistle. “Brian! You’re out.”

He headed towards the bleachers. Miranda’s head popped out of her palanquin. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.

He said, “Um…” Did Miranda not know how DODGEBALL worked?

Apparently not. When Coach explained to her that if Brian got hit, he was out for the rest of the game, she became indignant. “This is impossible! He is my shield, he cannot be ‘out!’”

Finally, Coach sent him to sit on the bleachers. Miranda turned up her nose. “Hmph! See if I use _you_ as a shield again.”

_Ouch._

Mattie the Weremouse was also sitting on the bleachers on her phone. She took a hit on purpose, so she could spend the rest of class chilling. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” 

Silence.

“So…what’s up?” he asked.

She blew a bubble with her gum. “A bunch of us are going to kidnap a child star,” she said.

“Cool,” he said.

He waited to see if she would say more. She didn’t.

An ungodly retching rose up from the court. Coach called, “Rasheed, you’re out!”

Amira fell onto the gym floor, clutching her throat. Foam bubbled up out of her lips. Morty rushed across the court, tripping over his own mummy bandages. “Oh my god. Amira, are you okay?”

“I…I’m dying…oh god…tell my mother I love her!” She made a few more choking sounds, clawing at the air with one hand.

Everyone stopped to watch. She twitched a few more times, then went still. Morty leaned over her.

In the blink of an eye, Amira shot up. “GET HIM!”

She threw a flaming dodgeball right in his face. The rest of her teammates who were still in the game all turned and launched their balls at once. Morty was swallowed up in a cloud of flesh dust and fire.

 _Wow._ Commanding such loyalty from your teammates, even after you’d been taken out of the game?

Amira laughed as Coach tried to stop Morty from running around in circles, which wasn’t going to make him stop being on fire or anything. She got dragged off to the principal’s office.

After that, things got pretty lame. Brian twiddled his thumbs for a bit. He glanced back over at Mattie. “So…about that child kidnapping,” he said. “Um…would you mind if I…”

The bell rang. A bunch of people crowded around Mattie. “You ready?”

“You know it!” She accepted high-fives all around.

They all left together, leaning in to look at a crayon-drawn map she took out of her bra. As soon as they were gone, the lights went out.

Brian sat alone on the bleachers.

Yeah. This was totally fine.

* * *

Anyway. More often than not, shit came to Brian. 

He was hanging in the bathrooms during the afternoon’s classes, having a smoke. Most of the people coming in were seriously hung over: there had been a food fight in the cafeteria, and it had gotten heavy. 

“Hey Bri!” Polly grinned, and gave him finger-guns. He tossed her a beer, and she grabbed it out of mid-air. “Thanks!” 

Damien LaVey came in a few minutes later, and Brian felt his dick twitch. Of course, Damien went straight over to Polly without looking at him.

“What’s up?” Damien asked. “I’ve barely seen you for like, a month.”

“Ugh. I’ve been so _busy_ trying to get ready for this party.” She grinned. “First of the season!”

It quickly melted into a frustrated groan. “And of _course_ , it’s on the same day that Ms. Lestrade announces a freaking _group_ project!”

The whole bathroom groaned in solidarity. “That’s not even the worst,” she said. “Do you know who I was put with? The _Coven!_ It’s a fucking nightmare.”

Of course, at that moment, the Coven came into the bathroom. “Well if it’s not the rainy-day parade!” Polly snipped. Damien laughed.

All three girls rolled their eyes. “We don’t see why you’re complaining,” the Coven said, all at the same time. “We’re going to be doing all the work!”

“Uh, _no_ ,” Polly said. “In case you’re forgetting, you already strong-armed me into the worst part of the project. Then you threatened to tell on me to Ms. Lestrade if I didn’t do it!”

“We asked you to pick up _one_ book from the library,” Faith said. “We already put in the request.”

Polly said, “The _Monstropolis_ Library! You want me to go all the way downtown to _that_ place?”

Brian was hit upside the head with two choices, as usual.

_Use the true hidden power of books: burn down the Monstropolis Library and use it to host an exorcising ritual so powerful, Ms. Lestrade will be blasted into the after-afterlife!_

Or:

_Worms! Worms worms worms worms worms!_

Brian glanced at Damien. He was looking _really_ hot today. His six-pack would look even better in the soft glow cast by a blazing inferno.

 _Nah._ Besides, one hazel branch too many, and Damien would be exorcised right along with her.

He found it surprisingly easy to speak up. The last couple times, when trying shit of this caliber outdoors, Juan had been there watching with everyone else. He’d gotten performance anxiety. That’s what was beautiful about the bathrooms: they were so intimate. If you fucked up, you would only have four or five people laughing at you, rather than three hundred.

“So,” Brian said to the Coven. “You’re not already going by the library?”

“What?” they asked.

He held up the news on his phone. The flagship headline read: _WORMS!  
_

A plague of worms of all sizes had descended on the city. They were crawling over the city’s buildings, turning over cars, and giving people the heebie-jeebies. The article included a photo of the library, which had been turned into a giant worm cocoon. Brian’s school photo from last year was underneath. The Coven said, “What have you done?!?”

Polly gasped. She looked at Brian with shining eyes.

Everyone crowded around. Brian lost grip of his phone. He was carried several paces back by their pushing. 

“ _Hey!_ Yu.”

A few people turned around, including Brian. Mamimi rolled her eyes. “Oh, ha ha ha! ‘You.’ Yu. Get some cultural diversity up your asses and stop assuming everything is about you.” She marched up to him. “My dad wants to know if you and Owen are going to help with the float for the winter festival.”

 _Seriously?_ He sighed. “Can you ask me later? I’m kind of busy.” 

She said, “Yeah, and my dad’s a jerk who’s using your involvement in the _machi_ to make me feel bad about how I’m an ungrateful, acculturated brat.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you or not?”

“Yes!” he said. “Or, I am. You’ll have to ask Owen separately.”

“As if I’m going within ten feet of him,” she said. Brian growled. She poked a finger into his chest. “It’s not my fault your brother’s a _creep_. I’m not giving him my phone number by calling him, so _you_ ask him, and tell me by next week.” With that, she stalked off.

Brian’s phone buzzed. There was an update on the news article. _WORMS! APPARENTLY THEY’RE CAPABLE OF TRAVELLING THROUGH THOUGHTS!_

Ceth the Fleshrender’s stomach started jiggling and puffing. Everyone watched in as it bloated, and exploded. A huge purple worm burst out, followed by a legion of smaller, plump white worms. Everyone screamed.

The big worm flopped onto the ground…and started doing the Worm? Its motions were so fluid and its spirit so free, that everyone started cheering and dancing along with it! Someone bumped up the music. People chanted. “ _Go_! Go worm! Go, go, go worm!”

The Coven stared, opened mouthed, eyes twitching. “You know what? Never mind,” they said. “We’ll do it all, as usual! We have to take care of this before the rest of the city's stomachs explode. We hope you’re happy, Brian.” They left.

“Yes!” Polly said, pumping her fist.

Brian lit a second cigarette and sidled up on the counter next to her. She said, “This is perfect. I was going to put the final touches on the décor for the _love nest_ tonight! I’d love some help.”

From… _him?_

She said, “Before we head to my place, why don't we stop by Callypgian?”

“I can drive us,” Damien said.

Polly hopped off the counter. “Nice! Let’s bounce.”

Brian reached for his backpack. “Just let me get my—”

He turned around. The bathroom was empty.

He walked through the rain to the bowling alley.

His brother Owen was at the bar, in his shitty red polyester vest. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Brian shrugged. He thunked his backpack on the floor.

Owen plucked up a pint glass. “You first drink’s on me, little bro,” he said. He grinned, and turned to one of the guys sitting down the bar. “It’s his first! My baby bro’s finally legal!”

Brian had to hide his laughter. Owen had been using that same line since he’d actually reached legal drinking age, years ago.

“Let me get your second,” the guy said, pulling out his wallet.

“It’s really okay,” Brian said.

“I’ll put it on your tab, Owen said. “Holy shit. My baby brother has a tab!”

When they moved further down the bar out of earshot, Brian said, “Can you not? I don’t want you to get in trouble for giving out free booze.”

“Aw, come on.” Owen pulled a beer. “After all, I didn’t get to take you out for that birthday. The alley owes me.” He set down Brian’s beer with confidence.

He scanned the bar behind Brian, as if searching for the legions of friends and fans that undoubtedly followed him everywhere he went. “You’re not going out tonight?”

“…My skin tends to flake off when it rains?” he said.

“I’ve heard that one before,” Owen said.

Brian sighed.

It was different for Owen: people liked him in high school. He wasn’t the top tier, but the popular kids always made sure to include him when they went out. A lot of his classmates still came by the bar every now and then, to throw back a few beers and catch up.

Owen smiled sympathetically. He leaned forward on his forearms. “You know, you don’t have to rock the world to get people to like you. You _do_ have to show up.”

“I don’t have to go out every night,” Brian said.

Owen held up both hands. “I’m just saying.”

For a while Brian sat drinking his beer and watching the games of bowling. He had 3 MONEY in his pocket; he put one in his skin flap so he wouldn’t be tempted, and used the other two to play _Slime Blasters 2: The Slime Coagulates_. He died pretty quickly.

He wandered back to the bar. “Any chance you’d want to go somewhere after your shift?” Brian asked Owen.

When he and Owen went out on weekends to the punk and metal shows around town, it was like going out with a movie star. Owen would use his stupid line about Brian being legal, and the bartenders would laugh and play along, because he was friends with all of them. If they went to a new place and the bartender wasn’t wise, sometimes Brian still got a freebie. Owen would work the room, chatting up whatever girl he thought was hottest.

Then, the show would start.

They’d headbang their hearts out: screaming, thrashing along with everything they had. If a song wasn’t working for him, Owen would start bellowing out the lyrics to one of his own favorites. More than once it had gotten him up on stage, singing along with the band to some song that was totally different than the one they’d originally been playing.

But Owen shook his head. “Sorry, B. I’m already half dead on my feet.”

He mulled over what he just said with chill content, snapped his fingers, and pointed at Brian.

It took Brian a minute. “Oh my god,” he said.

With a sense of humor like that, how could he not have ended up popular?

* * *

The next day, Brian was in a shit mood. He had to go to _class_.

He always made sure to go to one class every once in a while, to make sure his grades stayed high enough so that his stepdank— _Preston_ —couldn’t raise a stink. _As if he’s ever actually ever been inside a classroom._

Apparently, he'd waited too long since the last one. He’d gotten his last test back with a note from Ms. Panthera: _Retake this in a week. If you don’t bring it up, I’ll call your parents._

_Since when do the teachers here give a shit about anyone, anyway?_

He flung open the door. The classroom was in chaos, of course. Brian took a deep breath in, as if he could absorb all the SMARTS he needed just by standing there.

Someone waved at him. Oz Yesfirovich was sitting towards the front of the room.

Oz was kind of a strange kid. They liked Q and the Banshees, but the first time he met them it looked like they’d gotten dressed in the dark. They stuttered like crazy, but they also stood up to Owen without flinching. Then, there was the thing with the gate. You know, the one forged with thousands of screaming faces arising out of the earth like a volcano erupting tar? But rather than Mglaga, the Singer of the Hammer, out pops this skinny kid.

After their brief run-ins, he had expected Oz to melt back into the vast waves of monsters at their school; after all, they had friends. But they ran into each other in Tunes & Spleens. Brian didn't usually go in there, but they had a bargain bin, and he was hoping to find some cheap reggaeton.

He found Oz in the pop-rock section. They said, "Hi! Did you finish your driving hours?"

They had remembered. He hadn't expected that. He said, "Yeah. Test is next Saturday."

"Good luck! N-not that you need it, but, um, you know," they said.

"Yeah," he said. He looked down at the shelves in front of them, trying to get a clue about what they might have been browsing through. Oz said, “They're having a sale right now. Pop is 2-for-1.” That was weird, because they didn't usually have sales here, and it wasn't posted. They said, “I'm trying to find two that are equally cheap. I have, like, 2 MONEY and I need to save 1 for something else.”

"Bargain section. Everything is 50 cents," Brian said.

They went together. Despite careful digging, Brian came up empty. "Never come into a record store looking for something," he said.

Oz said, "Yeah. And if you do find it, it's probably 20 MONEY more than you can afford." Brian nodded appreciatively.

"Ooh!" they said. They picked up a CD in a bubble-gum blue plastic case. "Discount Aqua Free! I love listening to that when starts getting cold. It brings back a little of summer."

Brian almost snorted. "Um," he said. "You shouldn't say that you like them out loud." It was J-Pop for weeaboos.

"Why?" Oz said. "Their use of interwoven vocals has a startling affinity to those in Mozart's Requiem mass. It may not be the most groundbreaking of music, but their execution is accomplished in its own right."

 _Whoa._ That was a better answer than he'd been expecting.

They spent two hours talking music. Oz didn't know any of the really good bands Brian brought up, but for some reason they had a perfect mental catalog of all classical music, the second-rate J- and K-Pop bands of the past five years, top 40s bullshit, and a seemingly random selection of punk and punk-pop. They liked weird shit, but they could defend their opinions about it.

When Brian got home, he patted his dad's drum set hello, stuck his cheap, shitty headphones into his ears, and brought up Aqua Free. Oz was...right. The vocalizations did have a tight and neat execution, not unlike a full funereal chorus of 80+ people. (There were that many members of Aqua Free.)

Brian asked around at school the next day, but no one seemed to know who Oz was, let alone anything about them.

Except for one person. "Yeah, I know them," Juan said. He smirked. "But who _don't_ I know?"

They were sitting on the edge of the pier with a bunch of other kids from school, waiting for the monster truck show on the beach to start. Juan had his signature drink cup filled with extra-strength mojito (the lid was cursed so that no one would dare try to slip him something), and his fresh manicure _tap-tap-tapped_ on the side. He'd already taken a couple hits of E, and clearly, he was feeling it.

Juan looked _good_. His black crop top showed off the cream fur of his stomach, and his slim legs kicked back and forth. He was no Scott Howl (someone Brian was desperate to get on his knees for), but he was dick-hardening in his own way. Like a cupcake you wanted to eat slowly, licking the frosting from your fingers with relish.

"How do you know them?" he asked.

"None of your business," Juan said.

“…Is that code that you slept with them?”

Juan rolled his eyes. “Well, _gee_ , Bri. What a gentleman! Just for that, I'm not telling you shit.”

Brian apologized by kidnapping 1,000 pixies and using their light to write Juan's name in the sky in Day-Glo colors, just as _The Cyclops’ Schlong_ crushed its final victim and spouted jets of fire towards the stars. They still ended up making out on the beach until 3AM, but when Brian fingered the button on Juan’s skinny jeans, Juan moved his hand away.

The two little guys who rode around with Oz noticed Brian. They help up two little signs: _SAVE US_.

For good reason. Oz was talking with…Leonard? Or rather, Leonard was talking at them while they kept a death grip on their pencil, not making eye contact.

As Brian approached, Leonard said, “It’s actually a pretty _easy_ concept. You can memorize all the essential components by using the acronym ROYGBIAMTHEEVERLASTINGDESTROYERFEARMEFEARME.”

Oz wrinkled their nose in disgust. “I just explained that to you,” they said. “ _You_ asked _me_ about the 43 essential components of a Petria potion.”

 _Uh oh_. Maybe Oz had never gotten the memo that if you encountered a wild Leonard in the grass, you had two options: run away, or bludgeoning him with a textbook until he lost so much blood that he finally shut up. Brian definitely favored the latter.

Leonard said, “You know…if you need me to explain it to you again, we could do that—at the arcade, with you slavishly watching me while I kick ass at classic cabinet games and you hand-feed me pizza in a slave biki—”

 _Okay. Let’s stop this right here_. “Hey,” Brian said.

“Brian!” Oz said, leaping up.

“Sup,” he said.

“I’m good. I’m really really good. How are you?" 

Leonard pointed his thumb at Brian. “Good old _Brian_ here is my…my former initiate! Yeah. I taught him everything he knows. Before he met me, he could barely jump a blood river trap in Demontower!”

Both Brian and Oz stared at Leonard.

Brian said, “It’s kind of pathetic, how you puff up your low self-esteem by putting others down.” He shrugged. “I just wanted to let you know I beat your high score in _Icarus_.”

Leonard slammed both his hands on the desk. “What?! NO! _NO!_ I have to maintain my title as Ultimate Wrath Wraith!” He grabbed his backpack. “Don’t worry, Elisa the Sumptuous! We shall have that picnic by the Meadows of Norn again!” He ran out of the classroom to his home gaming lair. 

“Thanks,” Oz said. “He gets me every time. I don’t know why I always take the bait.”

“He’s a menace. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh!” they said. “I looked up some of that band you were looking for the other day. Calle 666? It was great!”

"They're amazing. What did you listen to?" Brian said.

They talked satanic reggaeton for a while, getting into an in-depth debate about whether historical research or in-depth experience with actual occult rituals were more important to the song-writing process. Oz even explained some of what he’d gotten wrong on his test, in an actually helpful and non-condescending way.

The bell rang. They walked towards the cafeteria.

“So, yeah, I would just put 6 as the answer for something like that,” they said. “If you get really stuck, you can bring up how the Harsenberger effect also introduces a paradox that makes the concept of ‘answering’ null and void in a vast and cold universe, but it also might give them chronic depression and/or head explosions.”

 _Whatever._ Not his problem! “Why can’t the actual teachers make this much sense?” he asked.

“I think they still have that revenge pact, after Gregg used his conceptual Rube Goldberg machine to funnel their retirement funds into Kehlania Warren’s off-shore account?” they said.

They stopped across the hall from the cafeteria. “Well,” he said. “See you.”

“Wait!” Oz said. “Aren’t you going to lunch?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“W-well…do you want to sit with us?” They rubbed the back of their neck. “Unless you have a cooler table to go to.”

Brian always ate alone. Not _in_ the bathrooms, but in the grassy fields between there and the clearing outside. By this time of year, it was so soupy from the endless rain-slush mix that it wasn’t very comfortable. He had planned to decamp to a section of dark hallway by the gym where no one would see him.

Sitting with Oz would be a marked improvement from the floor. But…

He could already see Amira expounding about something from across the cafeteria.

Despite their many meetings on the DODGEBALL court, he and she kind of kept clear of each other. Amira wore all designer clothes. Her house was bigger than his entire apartment building. Her neighborhood didn’t have multiple blocks marked off for weeks on end due to overlapping crime scenes. (The people in his building called the walk home the “police tape limbo.”)

He had worn the same shoes for the past three years.

Still, he had tried talking to her a few times before. She hadn’t seemed very into the idea.

“I don’t want to butt in,” he said.

“You’re totally not,” they said. “Come on!”

He hesitated, but followed.

Amira and Vicky had heads leaned together when the two of them walked up. Oz said, “Hey guys. I brought someone!”

Amira looked spooked. Vicky beamed. “Hey, Brian! What’s up?”

He shrugged. “Not much.”

“Brian’s going to sit with us,” Oz announced. They put their lunch down.

Vicky grinned, matching the tips of her fingers together. “Excellent. I love fresh meat.” She put one elbow on the table and leaned toward him, resting her cheek in her hand. “Have you ever had an out-of-body experience, Brian?”

“Uh...” He glanced behind him as if Martin the Were-bear Janitor were standing behind him, ready to narc. “You mean, drugs? Yeah.”

She sighed. “See, that’s what Polly said, too, but I mean something, like _really_ out of body. Drugs are great, but...” She shrugged. “In reality, you’re still indelibly bound to this fleshy prison."

“Only if you’re operating under the assumption of a Cartesian duality,” Oz said, “which is simplistic.”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, if you want to delude yourself that you can ‘escape’ Cartesian duality in a society based in Western epistemology, that’s your hang-up. I’m a realist,” she said.

They said, “Two words: ontological pluralism. Destabilizing hegemony and making way for alternative ways of being.”

Vicky threw one of her rejected sandwich crusts at them. “Yeah yeah, Mx. ‘I’ve-been-in-seven-dualities-at-once.’ _Some of us_ can’t infinitely reproduce our consciousness,” she said.

“What the hell are we even talking about?” Amira asked.

“No idea,” Brian said.

They looked at each other, and Brian smiled in a way he hoped was friendly. She opened her mouth, as if to say something…but then fell silent. She looked down awkwardly at the table.

 _Um,_ Brian thought.

There was a loud wolf-whistle from across the cafeteria. Polly waved at Vicky, her cell phone in her hand. “HEY HOT STUFF! The bear and the 10 pounds of pickles for this weekend are a go!”

“ALL RIGHT!” Vicky quickly stuffed the rest of her sandwich in her mouth. Still chewing, she said, “I’ll be right back. Hey, Brian, do you want my dessert? I’m lactose intolerant. It’s a real bitch.”

He appraised the chocolate pudding cup on her tray. “Sure.” She made finger guns at him, and then ran off to Polly’s table. 

He reached for the pudding. Before he could, Amira grabbed his wrist and stopped him. “Whatever you do, do not eat that pudding," she said. “Unless you want a real ‘out-of-body’ experience.”

Brian looked down at the pudding, and then up at her. “You mean she drugged it?” Amira shook her head, and let go.

“Vicky’s, um...really good at science. She does a lot of experiments,” Oz said.

“Don’t eat anything she gives you without seeing her eat some first, and you’ll be fine,” Amira said. “You lucked out. The first time Oz ate lunch with Vicky alone, they ended up on the wrong end of her 7-layer dip.”

They took a bite of their salad. “It’s not like I could have actually hemorrhaged to death or anything.”

“You didn’t need to tell _her_ that,” Amira said.

Vicky sprinted back across the cafeteria. As she did, five people raised their hands, and she high-fived all of them. “Hey, how are you? Ooh, how's your adopted half-sister's new baby?” She slapped Liam on the back cordially, making him slam his hand into his own mashed potato sculpture. He gasped.

Vicky said, “Oh man, this party is going to be _off the chain_!” She plopped down into her seat, bouncing a little. “Damien’s bringing his strobe light—you know, the one with the swinging axe blade?”

Her smile faltered when she saw the pudding still on her tray. “Oh.” She looked up at Brian, her eyes shining. “You don’t like pudding?”

“Um,” he said. He actually started to feel bad. 

“Vicky,” Amira said. She arched an eyebrow. Vicky looked between her and Oz, then huffed and fell back into her chair. “You guys are such party poopers!”

“We just didn’t want the poor guy to have a seizure,” Amira said. Vicky kept pouting, and after a minute, Oz sighed. They said, “I could eat it if you want.” 

Vicky said, “That’s not the same! You’re a Manifestation. Scientifically speaking, you don’t have a true body to leave.”

Brian looked at the pudding again, and shrugged. _Why not?_

He took it and one-shotted it into his mouth, crumpling the empty container in his fist. Oz and Amira stared with wide eyes. They leaned back as if he were going to explode and spray his rotting guts everywhere.

Vicky punched the air. “All right! How do you feel? Ooh, wait, wait! Let me get my lab notebook.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and shrugged. “The same.”

Vicky’s shoulders drooped. “What? Aww, man. I must not have put in enough—”

Brian lurched and fell face-first into his burrito, which squirted out all its filling. They watched him for a few minutes, and when he didn’t move, Oz gently shook his shoulder. “Brian?” There was no response.

Vicky began writing, glancing at Brian every few seconds. She took his pulse, then used her pencil's eraser to push his teeth apart and examine his tongue. Oz and Amira turned back to their lunch, and started talking about Polly’s party. Oz said, “I want to. It sounds fun, really, it’s just that my moms…”

“Just say that you’re meeting friends. It’s not _un_ true," Amira said.

“If they ever found out, I would be dead. And they’ll want to know which friends I’ll be with and exactly where we’re going. It's like having the feminist version of the CIA for parents,” they said.

“Tell them that you’re with us at my house,” Vicky said. “We can meet there before the party to get ready. They can even call my mom if they want. She’s totally focused on her own research in the evenings and doesn’t check up on me.”

They hesitated. “Are you _sure_?”

Amira said, “I was right about skipping class, wasn’t I? We do this all the time. It would be totally lame if you miss out on the party of the century.”

They steeled themself. “O-okay. I’ll do it!”

“Nice!” Vicky said.

“No looking back!” Amira held up a hand, which Oz high-fived. “Party starts at 9:30. We’ll meet at 7:30. That should give us two hours to get ready and we’ll arrive fashionably late at 10:15.”

“My usual curfew is at ten,” Oz said. 

“Ooh, say it’s a sleepover! It’ll be true, because you can crash at my place,” Vicky said.

“There you go,” Amira said.

They sighed. “It’s worth a shot.”

Brian jolted up and gasped, the cheese-egg-pineapple filling sliding off his face and landing with a wet _plop_ on the table. Vicky beamed and picked up her notebook. “Welcome back! So, what did you see?”

Brian’s gaze was unfocused. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Really?” Vicky asked. “Literally?”

“No.” A glob fell off his face. “I didn’t see. I couldn’t see.”

“Ooh!” she said.

“I was everywhere and nowhere. I couldn’t feel or think or move. But when I reached out I touched the fabric of space and time,” he said.

“And what did _that_ feel like?” she asked, scribbling.

“Nothing. I had no nerves or fingers.”

Vicky slapped the table. “See, I knew I was right! Who needs drugs when you have a potion of belladonna and mandrake treated with a teleportation spell?”

Finally, Brian's eyes came back into focus. He looked at her with a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Oh, that was way better than drugs. You should sell that shit.” She grinned and nudged him with her shoulder. “Brian, I like the way you think.”

“If you're interested in a business plan, I do consulting,” he said. He didn't, but he could bullshit something, and the MONEY would be nice. Vicky's mom was loaded, but Vicky didn't flaunt it. She was chill.

Amira polished off her last bite of pizza burrito. She said, “Well, I guess that wraps up today’s episode of Pus Science Theater.” Oz laughed. She grinned and squeezed their shoulder. “I'm going to get going. Need a smoke before gym #3! And we’ll have to work out something acceptable for you to wear to this shindig.” 

“Oh, hey, right!” Vicky turned to Brian. “Are you coming to Polly’s party? It’s going to be Oz’s first one!”

“Usually I go,” he said, wiping the rest of his lunch off his face. Vicky said, “You should come with us! We’re meeting at my place, probably around—”

Amira slammed her hands down on the tabletop. “Vicky come on we gotta brainstorm something for Oz!” She grabbed Vicky’s hand and yanked her across the cafeteria. Vicky said, “Ow! Can you pull more gently? Amira!” They crashed through the double doors and disappeared. Oz and Brian watched as they swung to a close.

“You saw that, right?” Brian asked.

“That was weird,” Oz said.

He looked thoughtfully at the doors. “I don’t think she likes me.”

Oz said, “Of course she does. Amira’s like this sometimes. She gets wrapped up in making plans really quickly.” They smiled at him. “We’re meeting at 7:30 to get ready, if you want to come. I'll text you the address?"

Brian shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great!” They looked visibly relieved. “It would be nice to have someone just to hang out with. I get the feeling that once we get there, Amira and Vicky are going to be busy with other things. I don’t want to ruin their fun by slowing them down.”

"You’ve really never been to Polly's parties before?" he asked.

They blushed. "I've been to _parties_.” They picked at their cuticles. "Well, o-one party. The end-of-the-year party, last year?"

That wasn't a real party. It was a sad, watered-down version of what was possible at one of Polly's true parties, with their drug cocktail bars, extreme waterboarding competitions, and endless hook-ups. Oz seemed to recognize this. They said, “It's _so_ embarrassing. My parents are really strict.”

"Geez." He couldn't imagine how awful life would be, if Preston and his mom decided he wasn't allowed to go out and he had to stay in with them. He may have been a nobody, but at least he could do all kinds of embarrassing shit in front of the popular kids without them ever remembering, because everyone was so fucked up.

“You said 7:30?” he said. Oz perked up, and nodded. “...I'll be there,” he said.

Oz was a weird kid—but Brian liked them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this while procrastinating on NaNoWriMo, so I thought I would go ahead and post it. The next will be up shortly, probably by the end of the week; it's all ready to go! 
> 
> Leave a comment, if you liked this--it's nice to hear from the people who are reading it, rather than just pushing it out into the dark silence that is the internet.
> 
> ***
> 
> Black and BIPOC lives matter.


	6. ITS PARTY TIME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First party of the season! BWA BWA BWA BWA! *multiple airhorns resound*

When Brian rang the door at Vicky's house, Oz was the one who answered the door. "Hey Brian! Here. Moscow mule, or whiskey soda?" They had two glasses of fizzy mixed drinks.

"Whichever you don't want," he said. They gave him the whiskey, and he took a long sip. It was good.

They said, "There's more, if you need more. Can you grab those others? We're upstairs."

Vicky was laying upside down with her head over the edge of the bed. She grinned and waved hello when they came in. "Hey, Brian! Amira! Drinks!"

"Just a sec," Amira said. Her voice rose out of the door to Vicky's closet. “A masterpiece of this caliber takes time!”

“Are you excited, or are you excited?” Vicky asked Brian. She crushed her new drink in three swallows.

“Excited,” he said.

She said, “Me too! I already took this stuff—it _guarantees_ a good time. Like last year, when we…”

She regaled them with stories of the shenanigans she and Polly had gotten up to at previous parties: hosting last summer’s beachside bash on a boat in shark-infested waters. Breaking into the city’s paragliding center when they were all drunk. And the classic: Owl Tits.

She said, “And this one’s going to be the best one yet!” She shook Oz’s arm. “Polly’s super excited for you to come. She didn’t believe me when I told her it was your first party ever!”

“You _told_ her that?” Oz said. 

Vicky said, “Don’t worry! No one judges. There was this one time, this new person no one had seen before shook everything up by inviting a bunch of grandmas. They rocked it _hardcore_ —one of them drove a lawnmower right through a garage door! And we all learned how to knit socks!” She downed the rest of Oz’s drink, too. “No one even saw him afterwards. So, you never know!”

Brian had a sip of drink. He scratched his knee, and in the process, discreetly lifted one pant leg.

He was wearing a pair of hand-knit socks. _Grandmas’ little hellion_. Vicky did a double take and gasped. “No,” she said. 

“Maybe,” he said.

Vicky ran over to her closet and started pounding on the door. “Amira! _Amira! Brian is horny grandma man!_ ”

“What?” she called out. Amira’s head poked out of the closet. Her makeup was incredible. “…For real?” she said.

Vicky slapped her knee. “Amira and I couldn’t stop talking about it for weeks! How did you get the idea?”

He said, “I got court-sentenced community service hours. It was either the nursing home or digging a new municipal sewer system.” 

Oz held out Amira’s whiskey sour. The ice was mostly gone. “Your drink's diluted," they said. “At this point, I should probably make you a new—”

With a _yank_ , they disappeared into the closet. The door shut with a bang. "Enough fooling around! You have to get dressed."

"I-I'll do it after you're done!" Oz said.

"No more stalling! You've made drinks, like, three times!"

Five minutes later, the closet door swung open. Amira leaned in the doorway, striking a pose. "Just a little something."

Rather than her usual dress, she had on a shiny red vinyl tube top and skirt. Her high heels were on point, and very pointy, with black and white flames on them. Vicky said, “Oh my god, look at you!”

Amira waved her off. “You haven't even seen the night's non-binary snacc special." She reached behind her and pushed Oz through the closet door.

They looked mostly the same, but their jeans were much, _much_ tighter, and they had traded their usual white button up for one patterned with little black stars. Their boots came up over the cuffs of their pants, and it looked very punk. "I-it's not too safe, right?" Oz said.

"I think you mean perfection," Amira said.

She sat them down on the bed. “Do you want me to do you?” she asked, holding up a makeup brush.

They hesitated. She said, “It’ll be subtle and gender-neutral, I promise. We can always take it off if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“Well…okay,” they said. 

She grabbed a palette. After patting it, she brushed a shimmery powder over their cheeks.

It was 10PM when they finally started rolling out. "If there's anything on the seats, just push it onto the ground," Brian said, flipping through his keys.

Both Vicky and Amira screamed, "SHOTGUN!" and ran for the van.

Oz was already sitting in the front seat. Amira said, "What?"

"How? I saw you still putting on your jacket!" Vicky said. She looked back at her house. The door was open and empty.

"Really? I don't remember having a jacket," Oz said.

Brian hid a laugh. He had texted Oz ahead of time so they could get there first.

Per usual, there was nowhere to park around the vicinity of the party. Large parts of the street were blocked off for "valet parking." The fees were crazy—20 or 30 MONEY an hour. Valerie Oberlin sat at the valet stand.

Amira leaned forward in between his and Oz’s seats. "Park about 2 blocks away," she said. "There's an abandoned house. The driveway’s pretty overgrown with plants, so it should still be free."

 _Nice_.

As they came up to the front door of the house, Vicky waved at someone. She said, "There's my friend Cauli! Be right back!" She disappeared into the throng.

“T-there’s so many people,” Oz said. “Are all these people from our school?”

Brian snickered. “No,” he said.

He double-checked his skin flap; the MONEY he’d set aside for the first party of the year was all in there. He usually bought whatever drugs would make the smallest dent, and saved part of it for some weed later in the evening, to help him fall asleep. 

He saw the table at the back right next to the candy bar, but then he had to back-track.

Oz was still hanging back, watching the people streaming in and out of the front door, and loitering with red solo cups on the lawn. “What’s up?” he asked.

"Um…” They wrung their hands together. “Maybe this is a bad idea…m-maybe I’ll just get the bus home.”

The little guys on their shoulders groaned. They already had their little glow sticks out. One had been doing hula hoops with a pink bracelet glowstick.

Brian reached and tapped on Amira’s arm. She was already deep in conversation with two pixie girls who didn’t look like SH students—maybe students from the university? She held up a finger. “Just a sec.”

He turned back to Oz. “If you’re worried about your outfit, you look good,” he said.

They sighed. “The clothes aren’t the problem. The problem is my face. I look like…like the butch member of a chess club.”

“What? What’s up?” Amira asked, coming over to them.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Oz said.

She smiled. “Yeah, you can.” She put her arm around them. “Look, this is just the pre-jump jitters. Once in the water, you won’t feel a thing.”

“No one will think you look bad,” Brian said. “If they do, they’re a jerk.”

Amira nodded. “There you go! And Brian’s got style—if he says you look good, then you do.”

The compliment flew so fast, Brian almost missed it. He looked down at his clothes. _She thinks this is stylish?_

She pushed them towards the door. “Now get in there and live it up! You can’t wait for someone to start living your life for you.”

Oz seemed to be gathering steam. “You’re right. O-okay. I’m gonna do it. I—” They looked around. “Amira?”

She was gone. 

"Just keep it chill," he said, and nudged them towards the door. "All you have to do is have FUN."

The dance floor was already packed, monsters grinding desperately against each other like it was the apocalypse, and this, the last party on earth. Polly was right in the middle, five people up against her at once, her left boob threatening to pop out of her top. Any other time, Brian would have dived right in, and let himself be lost to the party. He would buy a hit or two of whatever was cheapest, then get down on the dance floor, and, if his partner was good, head up to the love nest upstairs. But Oz still hanging in the doorway like a lost sheep. "You wanna dance?" he asked.

"I…I don't know," Oz said. They were blushing, but also watching the crowd with intense desire.

Brian sighed. He liked Oz well enough, but he didn't want to spend the entire time babysitting.

"Ozzy!" Polly waved. She burrowed through the crowd to get to them. "Well? What do you think?" she said, spreading her arms, glorifying the party in all its majesty.

"It's amazing," they said.

She did a short bow. "Thank you, thank you! This might be some of my finest work! It's open bar, so help yourself. And, ooh, here!" She reached in between her breasts, and drew out a baggy of mixed pills. "I got you a little present for your first big night out! Psychotic Dave's variety pack! Now, come on!" Before they could say no, Polly pulled them out onto the dance floor.

Brian couldn’t believe it. Oz had somehow scored the ultimate package: free drugs, _and_ Polly's somewhat undivided attention? What had they _done_? He had been in that van with them, and he'd felt sorry for Oz, as they tripped over their own words trying to talk to her.

She quickly left them to start grinding against an incredibly hot, tattooed Roc, but to their credit, Oz kept dancing by themself. "Brian, come on!" they said.

He chuckled. As if _he_ were the one who needed to be taught how to party. He dove into the crowd.

Things started getting crazy way earlier than usual. A fire-eater took over the middle of the dance floor, not only spraying jets of fire, but also making amazing shapes, hearts, stars, and flaming moons. Two snakes did the Forbidden Dance of Tenderness. Damien's strobe light was the perfect addition, sprinkling just a touch of danger over everything. "This is crazy!" Oz said, laughing. Their sparkly makeup made them look like something had literally fallen out of the sky and taken up residence on the dance floor.

"That's the point," Brian said. "It's FUN!"

Oz gave Brian their drugs (now _that_ was a true friend) and when he came out of the initial fog, Polly had re-emerged. She yelled to Oz, "I'm going to head out for the next cage match! It's out the mudroom door past the stick-and-poke station, if you wanna come! Vicky did something, to improve the bears?"

"Genetic engineering?" Oz yelled.

"Yeah, I think that's it! They have the tails of stegosauri now!"

“Did you say stick-and-poke tattoos?” Brian said.

Polly grinned. “Hell yeah! It’s a friend’s cousin’s neighbor’s stepsister that does it. She’s the bomb.com!” She whistled sharply through her fingers. From across the room in a little alcove, a girl with blue and gold scales and a slouch hat looked up. She smiled and wiggled her fingers.

Brian went over and looked over her set-up. Real tattooing needles, real ink, a bottle of green soap, and antiseptic wipes. _Awesome_.

“Hey,” he said.

She smirked. “Hey there.”

“What are your prices?” he asked.

“5 MONEY for something small on a wrist or ankle. Everything else is negotiable. I did a full back tattoo once.”

He took out his phone and started flipping through. He found the photo of a cluster of _ume_ blossoms he’d taken the last time they went to the botanic gardens. “Five for this? On the wrist.”

“Just one flower, or the whole thing? The whole thing would be thirty.”

He sighed. “Just one, then. And three lines on either side. Like this." He drew it out for her. “Sure,” she said. She patted the folding chair.

Oz said, “You’re...y-you’re actually going to do this?”

“Yeah.” Brian took off his coat. “Here. Hold this.”

She blew a bubble with her gum. “Name’s Sheila, by the way.”

“Brian.”

“Not your first, I’m guessing," she said.

“No.”

“Are you sure this a good idea?” Oz asked.

The first time Sheila poked the needle in, Oz jumped about two feet in the air. Brian snickered. “Relax. It doesn’t hurt.”

They didn’t say anything, but he saw their grip on his jacket tighten.

Polly was right—Sheila knew what she was doing. Her lines were clean and straight, and she poked at an angle to make sure the ink went in well and good. It took twenty minutes, and then she wiped off the excess and washed it. She wrapped a bandage around it and tied it off. She said, “There you go. All done.”

He looked at Oz. “See? It was nothing.” They nodded him nervously, but were visibly relieved once Sheila put the needle down.

Sheila smiled at him. “By the way.” She leaned close and squeezed his bicep. “Nice arms.”

He said, “Thanks.”

She looked him up and down. “I’d be willing to do another at a discount, if you’re interested in something more...adventurous?”

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

She spread her hand towards the table. “You know where to find me.” Then she nodded at Oz. “What about you, Sweater? You getting one?” They shook their head frantically.

Brian nodded towards the back deck. “Come on.” He grabbed two beers on the way, and they found a quiet place to sit on a picnic bench in the back of the yard, near the fence. Oz downed about half the can right away. Their voice entered his brain. “ _Oh my god I can’t believe you just did that,_ ” they said, as they wiped their mouth with the back of their hand. 

He chuckled. “I’m telling you, it’s fine.”

“ _You’re going to have that forever_ ,” they said.

“Kinda the point,” he said. 

They paused, and said, “It seems like a big commitment.”

“I already have one.” He pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show the circle of _ume_ blossoms around his upper arm. He had gotten it done by an actual tattoo artist. (No shade, Sheila.)

Oz drew in a breath, and leaned closer to look at it. When they looked up at him, their eyes were wide. Brian felt a wave of awe and respect, like looking out over an epic vista and seeing a gorgeous sunset. “That is _so_ cool," they said.

He blinked. “It’s…just a tattoo.”

There was a loud whistle, and Amira and Vicky popped out of the crowd. Vicky held up two shot glasses. “We come bearing gifts!”

"Where have you been?" Oz laughed. "We lost you after five minutes!"

"Oh, you know." Amira grinned. A huge hickey was developing on her neck. She had definitely been up in the _love nest_. "Besides, we knew you'd be fine."

Her eyes widened when she noticed the bandage on Brian's arm. “Is that a stick-and-poke?”

“Just something small," he said.

Vicky gasped. “Oh man. That is so awesome! I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but if I ever got one my mom would kill me.” She made an angry face, raised her index finger, and said in a mocking tone, “ _I worked hard on that body, young lady, and you’ll treat it with the respect it deserves!_ ”

“What do you want to get?” he asked.

“I don’t know, something kickass! Like a bird of prey diving, or a Mandelbrot set!”

He didn’t know what that was, so she pulled up an image on her phone. He hummed. He said, “Wait on that one. A professional should do it.”

Vicky turned to Amira. “Hey, now that Brian’s got one, you can get one too! You don’t have to be scare—"

Amira kicked her sharply on the ankle. She said, “ _Hahaha_ , V, that’s so funny! See, I was pretending earlier to be scared, because, uh, Miranda was thinking of getting one and she was not ready. You know? She’d had a few drinks.”

Vicky said, “But that’s not—"

Amira stepped on her foot.

Brian shrugged. “Nothing wrong with being scared.”

“I thought I was going to throw up,” Oz said. They finished off their beer. “And Brian was the one getting the tattoo.” Brian nudged them and smiled.

“Let’s do shots,” Amira said. She snapped her fingers, and lit the top layer of liquor on fire.

“It’s a snapdragon!” Vicky said. “Cinnamon whiskey layered with peppermint schnapps.”

Oz took one to smell it. Brian watched them. _They’re pretty sheltered._ “Have you ever done a shot before?” he asked.

They looked affronted. “What kind of question is that? Of course I have!”

Well, never mind then. “Sorry. Just asking.”

Vicky gingerly took hers. “Okay, come on!” Everyone clinked glasses, and blew out the flame. It burned going down in the best way, and Brian's mouth tasted fresh afterwards. “Nice,” he said.

Oz shrugged. “Eh. Kind of weak, and too sweet.”

“Uh, I think you mean amazingly delicious,” Vicky said.

“Oh, that is dangerous,” Amira said. She grinned at the bottom of her glass. “We should get more.”

“Yeah!" Vicky said.

They all headed inside. Vera, Polly, and Valerie were clustered around one end of the bar, cans of beer in hand, while Scott and Damien sat up on stools.

As they approached, Polly saw them and waved. She ran over and grabbed Oz's hand. “Ozzy!” She pulled them until they were wedged between her and the bar, her arms wrapped around their waist. Their cheeks turned rosy. “Are you having a good time? This is totally awesome, right?” She turned and shook Vera’s arm. “Oz has never been to a party before! Can you believe that?”

“I can,” Damien said flatly.

Oz glared at him. Scott whisper-asked something in Damien's ear, looking at Oz. Damien rolled his eyes.

Vicky slammed her hands on the bar top. “We’re here for more shots!” she announced.

“You can make more of those layered ones, right?” Amira asked Valerie.

“Sure. Five MONEY a pop,” she said cheerfully.

Brian felt a twinge of disappointment, and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m good,” he said. Amira and Vicky paid up, but when she held out her hand to Oz, they held up their hands. “Yeah, no, I’m good on that sweet stuff, too. Do you have any vodka?” they asked, turning to Polly.

“Uh, _duh_ , of course!” She pushed herself up to sit on the bar and rifled around behind the counter, bottles clinking together. She whooped, pulled one out, and presented it to them. It was mostly full and there was no label on it. Oz opened it and sniffed. They raised an eyebrow.

“Careful, noob,” Damien said. “That’s alcohol.”

“Oh, _gee_ , I didn’t know,” Oz said.

“Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself," he sneered.

Amira scoffed and rested her elbow on Oz’s shoulder. “LaVey, shut up. They were doing shots outside like a pro!”

“Yeah right!” he said.

“It’s true,” Brian said. He locked eyes with Damien. He’d been there the first time Damien ever gotten drunk. He’d watched Owen throw him out of the bowling alley a few hours later, after he went way overboard and got horribly sick in the girl's bathroom sink.

Damien looked away, muttering to himself.

Oz smiled at Brian as they poured two shots. “Here.”

Vodka wasn’t usually his thing, but Oz looked excited and happy, so he took it. They clinked and shot it back. It burned going down. Brian tried not to grimace.

Oz, on the other hand, looked totally calm. They looked into the empty glass for a moment, considering. "Not totally horrendous. It would be better frozen." They poured themself another.

“Yeah, Oz!” Amira held up her new snapdragon, and she, Polly, and Oz cheers’d and drank.

Damien growled and slammed his now-empty glass on the bar. It shattered. “Tell you what, noob.” He pushed his chest up against Oz’s. “You think you’re hot shit? I was planning on taking you outside later to beat you into a pulp. But I won’t, _if_ you can beat me in a drinking contest!”

Polly cheered. “Yes! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!”

“Show him who’s boss, Ozzy!” Amira said. Vicky high-fived her.

Oz said to Damien, “You don’t want to do that.”

Damien laughed and said, “If you’re too scared, we’ll head outside.” He leaned down until their noses were practically touching. “Take your pick.”

Oz sat down on a bar stool, upright and elegant, and shrugged. “All right. Your funeral.” Everyone scattered to set up the game. Brian nudged Oz’s side. “You’re sure you’ve got this?” he asked.

“I’m sure," they said.

Scott took Vera's now-empty spot. “Hey! Oz.”

"Scott Howl knows you?" Brian whispered. This kid had way too many secrets.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you," Scott said. Oz looked down at their shoes. It was as if their more confident self had dissolved back into the same mysterious realm from which it had arisen. “Oh.” they said. “How...how are you?”

Scott said, “Good! How are you!” It was more of an exclamation than a question.

“Good,” Oz said.

Brian glanced between the two of them. Oz looked at the ground as if the meaning of life itself was carved into the floor. Scott looked up and down at Oz's clothes, their hair and makeup. He said, “You look...different.” Oz barely glanced up at him. “It’s good different!” he said.

They whispered, “Th-thanks.”

An awkward silence descended. It was so awkward, that it had _texture_. Brian encountered a hillock first; and then a wide, vast plain. The silence stretched out so long and so wide, it seemed endless.

He thought he might be lost for years.

Scott looked like he was ready to make another attempt at conversation, when Damien said, "Get over here!" He grabbed Oz by the back of their collar and threw them into a chair next to a collapsible card table. Oz huffed and brushed themself off, straightening their shoulders. Damien said, “Rules.” He held up a finger right in Oz’s face. “No water, and no chasers. Two, no breaks! We both drink until someone gives up. Three, no switching! Pick your poison and stick with it.”

“Agreed,” Oz said. “What’s the forfeit?”

“You mean other than getting to keep your face intact?” Damien asked.

Oz hummed. “How about, whoever gives up first...” They exchanged a glance with their phobias, who giggled. “Has to strip, in front of everyone, and walk in their underwear to their ride.”

Damien was gleeful. “Oh, you’re fuckin’ on. I hope you wore your nice panties.”

“Mmm, we’ll see,” Oz said. “I’ll stick with vodka. And you?”

“Fuck it. Give me Jäger,” he said. 

“That’s an objectively terrible idea,” Vera said. “You should go with something lighter.”

“I haven’t gotten to this point by making rational and informed decisions!” Damien said.

The match began! At first, Oz and Damien kept perfect pace with each other, one shot after another. But then, Oz poured three shots at once, and did them all in a quick row. People laughed and nodded their approval. "You think that makes you badass, loser?" Damien said. He did his own row of three.

"The point isn't to impress," Oz said, "the point is to _drink_."

They made a pyramid: three shots on the bottom, two in the middle, and one on top. Not a drop of vodka spilled as they drank them all in one smooth go.

A few subsidiary drinking games branched off of theirs, some drinking every time one insulted the other, others playing by their own rules. Brian took the plunge and put the rest of the MONEY he would have spent on drugs to bet on Oz. If they won, he could expect 15 MONEY, a good return on the investment of his time and lack of blowjobs at this party. Every person at the party was crowded around the table.

“What’s going on here?” Someone tried to push their way past Brian. He grunted, but before he could turn around to tell them off, the voice said, “ _Excuse_ me!” and gave his back a hard shove. Brian stumbled.

Liam de Lioncourt stepped out. Some of his hair had escaped his stupid bun, but other than that, he looked put together and annoyingly sober. Instantly, Brian’s good mood was gone. “Watch it,” he growled.

Liam glanced at him and sneered, as if Brian were a speck of mud on his perfect, expensive shoes. “Oh, please.” He went over to Vera. “What is this?”

“Oz and Damien are having a drinking contest. Loser strips and walks to their car in their underwear,” she said. She was collecting bets from her barstool. “Odds are 4/1 in favor of Oz, if you want to put money down.”

“How much have you had?” Liam asked Damien.

Damien took another shot. “Not enough! I’m going to put this noob in the ground.”

Oz shook their head, arms crossed over their chest. “You’re fighting a battle you can’t win.”

Damien snarled and swayed in his chair. “Fuck you!”

“Right now, Damien has had twenty-five shots, and Oz has had thirty-four,” Vicky said.

“You’ve had _twenty-five_ shots of Jäger?” Liam asked.

“I’ve seen Damien come back from worse,” Vera said. She narrowed her eyes at Oz. “What I don’t understand is how you aren’t falling over. That bottle is almost gone, and you’re a twig.”

“It takes a lot more than this to get me drunk.” They smiled, and considered the bottle of vodka in front of them. There were still two fingers left. They sighed, pried the pour spout off the top, and downed it straight from the bottle. When it was gone, they wiped their mouth delicately. "Open another." 

Brian shook his head. “Oh my god. Oz.”

"How were you hiding this from us?" Amira said.

Damien growled and reached for his Jäger, but Liam slapped his hand away. He took Damien’s glass, dumped its contents into a mostly melted bucket of ice, and turned it upside down. “He forfeits.”

“WHAT?! No I don’t!”

“You won't drink any more," Liam said.

“Who are you, my dad? Yes I can!” Damien reached for the glass and missed, but still brought it up to his mouth. He blinked when his hand hit his own face. Oz snorted, tapping their finger on the side of their glass.

Liam said, "For your information, I'm the one driving you home, and I’m not stopping by the bootleg hospital for a pre-emptive stomach pumping!” He glared. “ _Again._ "

Damien growled. His eyes went to Oz, who regarded him coolly.

He scoffed. “ _Fine_. This is stupid anyway.”

He was drowned out by the cheer that rose up from everyone around them. Polly plopped herself down in Oz’s lap and kissed both their cheeks. “Ozzy, that was amazing!” she said.

“THAT’S MY BOI! WITH AN I!” Amira shouted. Vicky clapped her hands and threw her arms around Scott’s neck, who grabbed her and swung her around.

Oz cleared their throat, still blushing. “Let it be said, I tried to warn you. I look forward to your little show outside.”

“Oh, YAAAS! STRIP TEASE! Let me go set up the music!” Polly bounced up and floated over the crowd.

Brian put a hand on his shoulder. “Wow. Never would have seen that coming. Kickass, dude.” Oz beamed. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but it looked like their face had a soft glow to it.

Everyone started filing out to watch Damien strip. Amira grabbed Oz’s hand and pulled them out of their chair. “Come on! The champ has to have a front-row seat, right?” Once they were outside, she gripped them by the shoulders. “That. Was. _Beautiful_. I can’t believe it!”

“How did you even do that? I did the calculations. No one should be able to ingest that much without getting alcohol poisoning!” Vicky said.

Oz smiled. “We make our own vodka at home. It’s way stronger, and I can drink a lot of it.”

Polly drafted Scott to move the picnic table into the center of the yard, and Amira bounded over to her, trying to find a chair right in front for Oz to sit on. When she set it up, she waved them over.

Oz hesitated. It was only then that Brian realized how exhausted they looked. “Hey,” he said. He nodded towards the house, where there was a rusting metal bench up against the wall. “Let’s hang back here.”

Oz looked relieved. “Sure,” they said. They turned towards Amira and pointed at the spot, who looked confused and waved for them to come again.

“Last call,” Vicky said, carrying three cans of beer in one arm. She grinned at Oz. “None for you. You’ve had enough.”

“You know, you’re right. I think I feel a bit tipsy,” they said. They sat down on the metal bench and folded their arms behind their head. Brian chuckled and shook his head.

Amira finally came over. Vicky tossed a beer at her. “Head’s up!” She caught it smoothly and popped it open.

Beer and foam sprayed out of the top. “Aghh!” Vicky said, shielding herself with her arms. Most of it ended up on Oz, though. “Shit. Sorry dude,” Amira said.

"It's okay," they said.

The lights dimmed low, and music started: a slow, sexy beat. Vicky cupped her hands around her mouth. “WOOOOOOOOO!”

Oz said, “I will say. He may have the brain of a down feather pillow, but...” They sighed. They leaned back as they watched Damien start to take off his shirt, slowly, playing it up for the crowd. “I do like how he looks.”

“Oh yeah,” Vicky said, “No one can deny that’s one fine ass. Not even you, Amira.”

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Amira said, taking a video with her phone.

After Damien's _grand finale_ (which was simultaneously humiliating and likely to get him on the trending page of MonCock) wrapped up, Oz went up to Polly. "Thank you for inviting me," they said.

She grinned. "Hey, thank _you_! Maybe now Damien will finally come to my pole-dancing class with me! The instructor is insanely hot, but only into guys and inanimate objects, unfortunately."

"Do you need any help cleaning up?" they asked. Polly's house and yard, and the ones surrounding it, were trashed, doused in spilled booze, lube, and vomit.

She laughed, throwing her head back. "Oh, this isn't _my_ house! Let the people who live with here deal with it!" She waved them off, blowing them a kiss.

They were all totally drunk, except, somehow, for Oz, who didn’t know how to drive. The four of them ended up walking to Vicky’s place. Brian texted Owen the address where the van was parked, and after that, _I drove ur drunk ass home after the last. U owe me_. Fifteen minutes later, he texted back: _geez, B. could u at least wait til morning?_

_Mom’s shift starts at 7. Go pick it up now. Keys tucked on top of the back left wheel._

_fine. my debts repaid._

All the lights were off except for the one under Vicky's mom’s lab door in the basement, so they were able to go in through the front. Vicky collapsed on her bed, sighing happily. “Well. That was amazing. Who knew Damien was into lacy boy shorts?”

“I’m both scarred and amazed,” Amira agreed. She reached down to take off her heels. She had blisters where the straps had rubbed for hours.

“Vicky, do you mind if I take a shower? I’m kind of sticky,” Oz said.

“Oh yeah, sure! I’ll show you where it is.”

Vicky and Amira shared the bed, while Oz and Brian took sleeping bags on the floor.

Even after a long time, with someone snoring happily over his head, Brian was still awake and staring at the ceiling. The drugs were wearing off. He was bombarded with wave after wave of annoying thoughts.

 _Shut up_ , he told his brain. _Just shut up. Go to sleep._

He always told himself before every party, he was going to take less. It messed with his already-slow brain pretty badly. But these were free. No one could turn that down.

" _Brian?_ "

He turned by instinct towards a voice that hadn't spoken, wincing, still not expecting the feeling of Oz inside his head.

They furrowed their brow. “ _I’m sorry, do you mind? I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I think I overextended my voice. I don’t usually talk this much._ ”

“I’ll get used to it.” He turned on his side.

“ _I just wanted to say, thanks for coming. It was nice to have someone more subdued to hang out with. Amira and Vicky are the best, but they go at 100 miles an hour. I have a hard time keeping up._ ”

"I think you can, if you let yourself," he said.

" _You really think so?_ "

He nodded.

" _I hope I didn't hold you back_ ," Oz said. " _You were so cool about the whole thing. I would have been a total spazz without you_."

He smiled. "Guess we work well together."

Oz smiled back, and he felt it deep inside him, warming him. The circling thoughts were gone. With Oz in his head, there wasn't room for them.

He said, "Thanks for inviting me to come with you guys. People don't usually do that."

" _Their loss_." It sounded, or rather, it felt, like they really meant it.

"Well, good night," they whispered, their voice a little raspy.

"Night, Oz," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW it's so nice to see this posted! I wrote large chunks of it back at the end of 2018, so it's been a long time in the making. 
> 
> I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out. I recently found out that someone in my family is COVID positive, so I'm not feeling very up to writing, and unlike previous chapters I don't have large portions already written from years past. We're heading into some uncharted territory. I'm 95% sure it will be all about Oz and Scott, though, so if anyone is eager to get back to that plotline, eventually your wish will be granted. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left such wonderful comments on the previous chapters--I will try to respond to them all individually, once I'm feeling more like myself again. If you liked this chapter, leave a comment. I would love to hear from you!
> 
> ***  
> Black and BIPOC lives matter.


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